


Shackled

by Kira OHara (KiraOHara)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Forced Proximity, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Handcuffs, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, School Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2011-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiraOHara/pseuds/Kira%20OHara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In taking the fall to cover up a massive Halloween party, several students end up making the teachers think they need to learn some tolerance.  McGonagall has an interesting idea to accomplish this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shackled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/gifts).



> **Fest Name:** **Prompt Number:** 4  
>  **Original Prompt Text:**  
>  **Time Period** : Hogwarts Era, 6th-8th year, AU or EWE  
>  **Place:** anywhere at the school, the train  
>  **Object/Word Prompts:** House Unity, treacle tart, Harry's glasses  
>  **Action:** being made to hold hands  
>  **Squicks/Dislikes:** self-preparation, D or H het anything, boxer shorts (but better those than commando)  
>  **Preferences/Other Notes:** Gimme the most clichéd school smut you can think of - suggestions are (please don't feel you need to use them all!): drinking games, partnership working, detention, caught after curfew, Prefects bath, etc, etc. Yeah, like you don't know who left this prompt, huh?  
>  **Pairing(s):** Harry/Draco,  Ron/Hermione, Blaise/Pansy, Blaise/Ginny  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
>  **Warning(s):** Frottage, anal, non-descriptive rimming.  
>  **Epilogue compliant?** Not at all, bbs. ♥  
>  **Word Count:** 23,085  
>  **Author's Notes:** As usual, this fic got out of hand and is almost twice as long as I’d intended. I even refused to add scenes, and it’s still this long! *flails* XD Please pardon the slight crack! This prompt amused me to no end, and I think I might have SOME idea who left it, ‘mystery prompter.’ ;D Huuuuuuuge thanks to the many lovely ladies on Chatzy for ~~putting up with~~ encouraging me as I got this out! ;D *loves on you all* Enjoy, loves!  
>  **Beta:** Thank you, thank you, thank you to the amazing [KJP_013](http://kjp_013.livejournal.com)!!! ♥ She got this turned around within a day and I am simply floored. *squishes* And thank you to the wonderful [wendypops](http://wendypops.livejournal.com) for recommending her. ♥!

Harry covered a grin with his drink as he surveyed the room. He figured this was probably what other people his age saw as normal – and for once he was getting to be normal right along with it. It felt nice, to be honest, even if he thought that this was all madness.

The Room of Requirement had been done up in…well, not _style_ , but some tacky Halloween version of style, he supposed. A few people from the various Houses had gotten together the month before to plan a bash for the upper years, after several had begun passing around the notion that the usual Halloween festivities were way too boring. Hermione had immediately jumped in with the idea that they could also include some of the more traditional Wizarding practices, as well as the silly ones borrowed from Muggle culture. While most people assumed that it was simply Hermione’s way of making them learn even on a _holiday_ , Harry had seen the way some of the pure-blooded students had seemed more at ease with even the tackiest Muggle decorations, and had to wonder if there was more to his friend’s suggestion. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Some people had come in costume, with the key attributes being either skimpiness or ridiculousness. A few of them had lost pieces along the way, and others had seemed to pick up the shed odds and ends. Seamus, for one, had a spiked brassiere on his head that Harry wasn’t certain who had contributed (and probably didn’t _want_ to know). Luna had taken her lion headdress to a whole new level with a matching outfit. She had been planning to come as a jigtrackle (whatever that was), but as they were supposedly invisible it would have meant her being naked. Hermione had been quick to dissuade her.

During the rebuilding, many of the older students had made good friends with the house-elves. This had come in handy when it was time to smuggle in the alcohol for the party. Winky certainly seemed to be having a blast serving up all manner of odd concoctions at the bar. The food was simply a continuation of what they had encountered at the Halloween Feast earlier that night, though there seemed to be more sweets and some party snacks floating around now too.

Harry smiled as he took another sip of his own drink. How they had managed to make something that tasted just like treacle tart was beyond him, but he had knocked back two of them already and was feeling pleasantly warm. Not enough to get him into the game of spin-the-bottle he was currently spectating, but he might possibly have been the source of a few of the wolf-whistles heard now and again.

Three things kept him out of the game, even if his shyness was slowly fading. For one, he was still uncertain about how good he actually was at kissing. Obviously not enough to overcome Cho’s memory of Cedric, and asking Ginny wasn’t going to happen any time this century. Which brought him to number two: Ginny was playing. It would be his luck to get her on a spin and then have to deal with her possibly biting his tongue off. He was hoping her ire would fade with time (or a new beau), but she was still peeved at him for breaking it off once and for all. Mostly due to reason number three, which had to do with a certain revelation he’d had in the couple months of self-reflection he’d done over the summer holidays. He was a bit nervous about that coming out, and if he were to seem a bit more enthusiastic if he’d gotten a guy on spin instead of a girl…well.

He choked on his drink when he saw the next spin. He supposed the coughing was better than the gale of laughter that had been intending to come out when he saw Ginny’s face. He hadn’t realized that Blaise Zabini was playing before, but now the Slytherin was glaring at a very green-in-the-face redhead. He felt safe to laugh and not bring the girl’s wrath upon himself further when others began sniggering and making lewd comments about the tension. Finally, Ginny huffed and they shared a very awkward, hate-seething smooch so that the game could continue. Harry had scarpered after that when he saw that Ginny’s spin had landed on Goyle and he knew that – nevermind what the girl would wreak upon him – he was going to hurt _himself_ laughing if he stayed there.

His new niche was a corner with a nice view of the room, half-hidden by a very helpful plant. He could happily throw himself down and laugh himself silly in peace now. And he would have, had he not been interrupted by a very particular voice.

“Was your drink spiked with something other than alcohol, Potter? Or have you finally lost it?” Malfoy drawled from the other side of the apparently not-so-helpful plant.

Harry sighed and counted to four. He didn’t want to start anything with Malfoy this year, but he didn’t think the other boy would wait for him to count to ten. Or fifty. Or five million. Or however long it would take until Harry didn’t want to throttle him. They had gotten on so well this year so far – if by ‘getting on well’ you meant ‘ignoring each other completely.’

“Hullo, Malfoy. No, my drink is fine. My head too, save for application of said drink,” he said as pleasantly as he could. “Just enjoying the look on Ginny’s face for having to kiss Goyle.” He grinned to himself, another little chortle escaping.

“Some mix of anger, horror, disgust, and wanting to cry, I assume? Why, Potter, I never pegged you as a sadist.” Harry could _hear_ the smirk in the other boy’s tone, making him repeat his count of four.

“Sod off,” Harry mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat. He supposed it _was_ a bit sadistic to be enjoying her plight, but he’d rather not think about it. “I’m surprised you came to this,” he returned, gesturing toward the party before realizing that Malfoy couldn’t see it. “I didn’t expect to see you.” He could try for civilized. Really, he could.

“Technically, you haven’t ‘seen’ me.” Alright, maybe he couldn’t.

“Hah. Hah. Ow, wait, I think my sides split,” Harry deadpanned, then reached up to shove some of the branches out of the way so he could see his conversation partner.

“Potter prefers sadistic humour over sarcasm. Duly noted,” Malfoy said with mock-seriousness while tapping his lower lip.

“Do you ever cease to be annoying?”

“Do you ever cease to be an imbecile?”

Harry gave a pained groan, during which he could hear Malfoy laughing. …Wait, what? Malfoy? Laughing? Harry straightened quickly. “You laughed!”

“I see the answer to my question is ‘no.’”

“Shut up. You know what I meant.”

“No, Potter, I really don’t. I laugh all the time. Usually at you. And yet you seem surprised.”

“No, you do that evil sniggering or lofty arsehole laugh. That was a _real_ laugh.”

Malfoy glared at him for a moment, then rolled his eyes and got up. “Whatever you say, Potter. Pardon me; my drink is empty.” He began to move away.

“Wait!” Harry knew he would likely kick himself later when he was sober, but for the moment those two and a half drinks had finally kicked in. Malfoy turned back around, raising an eyebrow in query. “Er. What made you decide to come?”

“Not that it is at all your business, but I wasn’t about to miss a party.” Harry thought there was an undertone there. _Miss a party with all the Houses, which would keep them still hating him_ , Harry supposed. “Plus, endless candy and all the alcohol I can drink isn’t something to pass up. And, of course, there _is_ the entertainment.” His mouth was curved in a wicked grin as he gave a quick nod to the circle, who had apparently moved on to truth-or-dare. Either that or one of the pairs was having a bit too much fun with the kissing. Hard to tell.

Harry snorted, nodding in agreement. See? He could do civilized after all.

“But now I am down to ice,” Malfoy punctuated with a shake of his glass, “so I must be going. Ta-ra, Potter.” Harry waved to Malfoy’s retreating back, uncaring that the other boy wouldn’t see. Maybe he should get another one too. He’d spilled a bit of his last drink during his escape. Maybe he’d try that shot that Seamus said tasted like chocolate cake…

.o0O0o.

Harry dutifully nudged one of the Hufflepuff boys awake. He had somehow been volunteered to help shoo out those who could still stagger back to their rooms and find chaperones for those who couldn’t. Thankfully this one simply sat up and blinked owlishly before (unsteadily) taking off. cHarry had needed to dodge both a fist and a couple of amorous advances from the previous groggy drunks, and had just barely managed to keep himself from dumping a deluge of ice water on them in return. He was getting more practice than he cared for with this whole ‘count to four’ thing.

Satisfied that he had successfully cleared his assigned sector, Harry trudged outside to wait for Ron and Hermione. While he was definitely coming down, he was apparently still out of it enough to not realize just who was about a foot away from where he slumped against the wall.

“Still alive, Potter? You look ready to keel over,” Malfoy shot at him cheerily, though the effect was ruined by a large yawn.

Harry grumbled at him in response. “Why’re you still here?” he returned. After a second, he motioned to their location in hopes that Malfoy would understand he meant _here_ instead of _here at all_. Thankfully, Malfoy seemed slow to insult when inebriated.

“Waiting,” Malfoy answered with a shrug. Harry was about to ask what he meant, but then Pansy Parkinson was stumbling out in her ridiculously high heels. She was holding a _very_ drunk Zabini’s arm around her neck, helping him to walk. He was humming off-key and mumbling snippets of lyrics here and there, uncaring of anything at that point.

“Come on, let’s get you back to the dorm and you can do something more productive with that mouth,” Parkinson leered. The couple tottered on by, either ignoring Malfoy or simply oblivious to the world. As they turned a corner, Harry heard Zabini’s voice rise in something that sounded like, “You are always on my miiiiiiiind, You are _always_ on my _mind_.” He shook his head, hoping they didn’t rouse Filch with that racket.

“…Or not,” Malfoy continued from before, peering disgustedly after his friends. “And now I don’t want to go back to my dorm at all.” He gave a gusty sigh, rubbing his temples. Harry just laughed.

That is, until Ron and Hermione tripped out the door, lip locked and half-dishevelled. They kept breaking into giggles and shushes as they faltered over each other’s feet while trying to pull each other down the hallway. Harry was pretty sure that one of Ron’s hands was under Hermione’s clothes already, and felt himself go a bit green. He really didn’t want to figure out if it was angled up or down; he was scarred for life enough as it was at the very thought. Perhaps this was karma for laughing at Ginny earlier.

“Well, shit,” he grumbled, pushing away from the wall and heading in the other direction.

“Where are you going? Your dorm’s that way,” Malfoy asked while pointing (not-so-)helpfully after Harry’s friends. Harry would have glared at him, but he was actually pretty certain that Malfoy was trying to be helpful instead of taking the piss. Apparently alcohol achieved miracles.

“Long way. If I’m lucky, they’ll have passed out by the time I get back,” Harry called over his shoulder as he ambled away. A few moments later, he heard footsteps coming up alongside him. Harry turned and blinked at Malfoy in surprise.

“I don’t want to deal with friends who can’t slur out a Silencing Charm either,” Malfoy supplied.

“So you’d prefer to follow me?”

“I believe this would be more ‘walking with’ than ‘following.’ Plus, you’re the stalker, not me.” The smirk he turned on Harry made him want to shove Malfoy into the wall. He settled for rolling his eyes.

“I wasn’t a stalker. I was just the only one convinced that you were up to something.”

“Thus, you stalked me.”

Harry couldn’t _really_ refute it, especially as Hermione had accused him of the very same several times before. “Did not,” he grouched out unconvincingly, shoving his hands in his pockets. Malfoy just laughed.

So Potter is a sadist _and_ a stalker. What would your adoring public think?” Malfoy gasped, a hand resting on his chest in mock-affrontedness.

“Oh, sod off!” Harry spat, but there was a bit of a laugh laced into it. “And my ‘adoring public’ can sod off too. As well as the non-adoring public. And the public in general.” Harry could feel the snickers grow as he continued.

This seemed to amuse Malfoy further, as he began to laugh loudly. Harry would later curse alcohol’s tendency to increase the amusement factor of everything, for a few moments later they were both stumbling more than walking due to the escalation of laughter. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he swore that his face actually _hurt_ from laughing that hard.

At a brief pause during which he desperately attempted to draw in air, Harry’s senses went on high alert. Quickly, he dashed to the side and shoved Malfoy into a small recess in the wall, covering the other boy’s mouth with his hand. Malfoy (naturally) tried to struggle, but Harry just put a finger to his lips and shushed him. It was probably the wary and alert expression on his face that had actually silenced Malfoy, but Harry was listening too hard to care.

Malfoy reached up to try to pry Harry’s hand away, but Harry just shushed him again and explained in a low whisper. “I could’ve sworn I heard footsteps. Not ours!” he continued hastily, interpreting the derisive look Malfoy shot him. “Really! I swear!”

Finally, Malfoy was able to tug his hand away. “Look, Potter, I didn’t hear _anyth_ –” Malfoy choked, his eyes going round.

It took Harry only half a moment more to realize why…when he felt something brush against his own shin. In unison, their heads snapped down to see Mrs. Norris purring up at them malevolently. Thankfully, they were panicked enough to not register their foreheads knocking together.

Knowing that Filch wouldn’t be far away if his blasted cat was there, Harry scrambled quickly back from where he’d had Malfoy pinned. Unfortunately, Mrs. Norris had circled behind one of his feet, sending him reeling. Malfoy tried to dash around him, but ended up tripping over Harry’s other foot and losing balance as well. Harry managed to balance himself again, but his foot came down on the edge of Malfoy’s cloak, which jerked the other boy back while making Harry slip. They spun around and went down in a tangle of limbs, flailing wildly.

Harry’s nose and glasses knocked against Malfoy’s chin and lips after the other boy’s grasping hands had latched futilely onto his t-shirt. Harry felt his palms slide against the stone as he tried to catch himself. Malfoy’s head bounced back up off the ground, hitting Harry’s brow with his forehead. Harry feared for his spleen (or whatever organ that was) when he landed against Malfoy’s bony pelvis.

It took them a few moments to stabilize. Harry was a bit busy hissing through his teeth in pain. Malfoy seemed to have taken the knock to his head rather poorly, eyes fluttering as he seemed to struggle with consciousness. When Harry finally had the peace of mind to realize that he’d landed on top of Malfoy, he pushed himself up to his smarting hands and knees.

And saw a pair of old, dingy boots not a foot away from Malfoy’s head.

Horror dawned to both boys as Harry turned his head up, giving them both a clear view of Mr. Filch’s face grinning maliciously down at them. “Fighting in the halls? Oh, you’ll be in _such_ trouble for this!” he crowed gleefully before reaching down to drag Harry up by his shirt.

.o0O0o.

They were screwed. Harry was certain of it.

Several other students were crowded into the Headmistress’s office, all in various states of disarray. Some of them even looked injured, as Harry knew that he and Malfoy did, but luckily they all seemed (mostly) sober. Filch had rounded up no less than twelve students, bringing in the last three about fifteen minutes after Harry and Malfoy. McGonagall looked ready to spit fire.

Harry knew that they had two choices. Either all of them could agree to Filch’s assumptions that they had _all_ been fighting – or perhaps just wandering after hours for the four that looked less ruffled – or they could rat about the party. As much as he disliked the idea of lying, he knew which route he would be taking. The twelve of them were doomed regardless; it was better to accept that and take a punishment than to bring down upon them the wrath of the entirety of the seventh and eighth years, as well as the handful of sixth years who had been of age.

McGonagall gave a (thankfully) brief lecture about being disappointed in all of them, then pinned each student with a glare, asking each in turn just what they had been doing. Smartly, she had aimed for the weakest link first – a sixth year Hufflepuff boy who was shaking in his seat – and left Harry and Malfoy until last. The others, whether Harry liked it or not, probably would have gone along with whatever he claimed. Malfoy, on the other hand, could have probably made up some spectacular – and possibly believable – lie.

Mercifully, the others all agreed that they had been independently out and up to no good. McGonagall didn’t seem to truly believe them, but it wasn’t possible to refute it now that they had been able to corroborate each other’s stories. Harry _did_ have to wince at the Headmistress’s look of sadness when she seemed to easily believe that he and Malfoy had been fighting.

Then again, they certainly _looked_ like it. Their clothing was disordered, and Harry’s t-shirt was slightly torn. Malfoy had a smudge on his face from either the wall or the floor. Harry’s nose was bloodied and slightly broken, and both of his palms had abrasions. Both of them had welts on their foreheads, and the ridge of Harry’s left eye was bruised. There were angry marks on the bridge of Harry’s nose where his glasses had smashed against it, and Malfoy’s chin and lip were both split. To top it off, Harry’s glasses were (yet again) broken. The two of them were a right mess, and Harry thought it almost humorous that they really hadn’t ever looked quite so beat up even when they _had_ fought.

Heaving a deep sigh, the Headmistress spoke. “You have all shown me that there is a severe problem in this school, and I worry that I did not realize it sooner. In this time of healing, we need to stand together, not apart. I had thought that maybe the tragedies our world has suffered these past few years had finally driven this home, but I regret that it seems to have been the opposite. Never before have I seen such disunity – such lack of camaraderie – between the Houses as tonight. I am sorely disappointed in you all.”

After a pause to think, she continued, “I am sentencing you all to two hours of detention every Sunday from now until the end of January.” A few of the students cried out. “You may think it unfair, but this is a lesson that needs to be learned. I will _not_ tolerate such dissonance in this school. Any of your Housemates who might seek to repeat your behaviour will suffer the same punishment.

“I am not completely through, but I wish to speak with the other teachers about your actions before pursuing this further,” she warned. “I will divide between them your detentions and have a schedule for you by lunch tomorrow. You will serve your first detention tomorrow evening. Are there any questions?” she asked severely, pausing to turn her tight-lipped frown on each silent student. “Good. You will be escorted back to your dormitories shortly, and I expect you to stay there. First, however – Poppy!”

Madam Pomfrey was brought in to mend their injuries, then the school ghosts were called to escort them all back to their respective Houses. Harry smiled weakly at the sixth year boy and seventh year girl who walked with him, fully agreeing with the glum looks that each of them returned.

Curiously, Harry had taken note that the various groups that had been brought in had all been mixed as far as Houses were concerned. The very fact that they had been found together rather contradicted what the Headmistress believed, and Harry sincerely wished that he could tell her so. That, however, would have just caused more trouble than it was worth.

.o0O0o.

Harry wanted nothing more than to wallow in bed the next morning, but everyone had been informed that attendance at breakfast was mandatory unless you were in the hospital wing. Harry would have gladly curled up on what was (sadly) his usual cot in the infirmary, but Madam Pomfrey likely wouldn’t let him get away with it. Or, worse, might realize he was hungover, and _that_ would be interesting to explain.

As much as his stomach was unenthused about eating, he made a point to force some toast and greasy bacon down, and even forewent the sweet pumpkin juice in favour of orange. Most of the other upper years seemed to be in just as sorry a state, so at least his misery had company.

That morning had found that a goodly amount of the Houses already knew what had transpired for those twelve unlucky students. Word spread like wildfire at Hogwarts, and Harry had been forced to deal with Hermione’s questions as soon as she had managed to prod him awake. Yes, he had gotten caught – stupidly, and while attempting to avoid being in the dorm with his amorous friends. Yes, he had gotten caught _with Malfoy_. And _no_ , there was _nothing more to that, Hermione, damnit_.

Sometimes, Harry wished he could glare her into submission. Or at least quietude. But alas.

Later, Harry vowed, he would figure out just what was in that drink he’d had so that he could _never drink it again_. He vaguely recalled thinking that alcohol worked miracles, and he and the High Git of Slytherin had actually been _civil_. Harry quite preferred the ignoring, thank you very kindly. He had no wish to interact with Draco Malfoy if he could help it, and would be happy to avoid any further association for their short time left at Hogwarts. …Even if he _wasn’t_ quite so awful when inebriated…or maybe it was just Harry’s tolerance for him that was better when drunk…

Harry resolutely managed to keep from glancing over at the Slytherin table. If Malfoy didn’t look like as much hell as Harry felt, his mood might go a bit downhill. Or a lot downhill. Because _that_ was just unfair.

Harry did look up from staring down his plate when Seamus knocked his shoulder and passed on another thank you from someone. There was a lot of gratitude being passed around for the three Gryffindors, four Hufflepuffs, three Ravenclaws, and two Slytherins who had taken the fall then night before. Harry had even had a few offers of homework help to offset the study time he would supposedly lose on Sundays. Harry didn’t mention that he probably wouldn’t have used that time for study; freely-given homework help was more than welcome, especially from some of the Ravenclaws.

Far too soon, there was a tapping at the podium in front of the professors’ table. The room quieted down as they all turned to give the Headmistress their attention. She scanned her eyes over them once to ensure they were all focused, then took a deep breath.

“As some of you may have already heard, last night Mr. Filch found twelve of your schoolmates out of their beds after curfew. All twelve of them have admitted to being engaged in less than friendly altercations with members of differing Houses. I do realize that last night was Halloween, but that we found _twelve_ students engaged in such activity gives me reason to worry. While I might wish to hope this was an isolated occurrence, as Headmistress, I must wonder if perhaps this is part of a recurring theme.” Harry winced when he noticed her eyes linger on him and then flick over to where he knew they focused on Malfoy.

“As such, we will be engaging in an exercise in tolerance for the next three and a half months.” There was a rush of whispers, but a few rapid taps of the Headmistress’s wand brought them all back to order. “This unity-building endeavour will encompass members of all years in all four Houses. Each and every student will be paired with someone of a different House within one year of him or her. They will spend _all_ of their time with this person, during which they will be expected to work out their issues.

“Due to the nature of this, the Sorting Hat will be passed around to evaluate each of you. Once it has been handed off by each student, it will give us a list of the pairs. The reason for this is that each of you will be paired with the person you share the _most_ and/or _strongest_ issues with.” Cries of horror erupted around the room. Harry felt all the blood drain from his face.

The Headmistress carried on despite this. “To ensure that you do indeed keep contact with your partners, we will be binding you together. The device will appear like a handcuff around one of each partner’s wrists. You cannot remove it or alter it in any way, or we will know. Attempts to do so will be met with immediate expulsion,” she added harshly. There were a few gasps now, but much of the student body had already settled into shock.

“Rooms are being prepared on the second, third, and fourth floors and will be assigned when you are bound. You will live, dine, and attend classes with your partner. We will be receiving a handful of Timeturners tomorrow morning for teachers to use for those students who need to attend classes happening simultaneously. You and your partner will have to work out which classes you will attend first.

“This will continue on until February fourteenth – Valentine’s Day, the day of love. A fitting day, I believe, as I hope to see friendships spring up in place of this animosity.” Harry would have been relieved to see that a few of the professors looked dubious about that idea, but he was too busy trying to convince himself this whole speech didn’t exist. “At that time, all those who have learned to work through their issues will be released from the handcuffs automatically and you will be free to return to your dormitories. However, for those of you who still have an excess of issues, the binding will remain until you resolve them – up until the end of the school year, if necessary.”

There were fewer shouts of outrage this time, but several hopeless wails rose up from around the room. “The only exception to this will be for those of you who play Quidditch. Practices and games will allow you to be momentarily unlinked by Madam Hooch, but the partner not participating will be required to remain in the stands for the duration.” Never let it be said that McGonagall didn’t love her Quidditch. Harry wildly wished that the eighth years had been permitted to try out for the teams. Sadly, it hadn’t been allowed as they were so much older than the younger players.

The Headmistress went on to explain that the shackles would be able to sense physical and magical harm, and that any pair caught attempting to harm each other would BOTH suffer the consequences – regardless of who started it. There was a set of punishments ranging from detentions to expulsion, but Harry was too stricken to pay attention.

He groaned, letting his head thunk against the table next to his plate. _Well, fuck._ Ron and Hermione were hurriedly whispering their concerns next to him, but he paid them no mind. He already knew who he would be stuck in Hell with for the next three and a half months.

.o0O0o.

Harry glared at the wall as he waited in line. He could sense Malfoy standing as far away as he could while still technically next to Harry, radiating surliness. He seemed to be just as hungover as Harry, as well as sleep-deprived if the circles under his eyes were any indication. Just as he had predicted, the Sorting Hat had cheerily paired the two of them together.

For a moment, he wondered if people would think he was evil again if _he_ were to set the offending garment on fire.

When it was finally their turn in the queue, Harry stuck out his left wrist for Professor Flitwick to perform the charm on. He finally turned his head when he felt Malfoy glaring a hole into him instead of sticking out his own wrist. “What?” he snapped.

“What makes you think you can choose the wrist, Potter?” Malfoy all but snarled back at him.

Harry rolled his eyes. “ _I_ am right-handed. _You_ are left-handed. Life will be easier with our non-dominant hands cuffed together – my left and your right,” he explained in a caustic tone. He would have felt badly for how awkward Flitwick seemed while listening to them, but his mood had rapidly deteriorated to the point of not caring. He wasn’t to the point where he’d snap at random people yet, but he was simmering close.

Malfoy pursed his lips as he seemed to think Harry’s words over. Reluctantly, he seemed to agree. Instead of saying so, he just huffed loudly and stuck out his right arm next to Harry’s. Flitwick murmured the incantation and a soft orange glow circled their wrists. It settled into a faintly glowing set of handcuffs, linked together by a seven-inch chain.

“Now then,” Flitwick began. “There are a few things to mention about the cuffs. I believe you heard Headmistress McGonagall’s lecture on their ability to detect harm, so I will gloss over that. They will also let us professors know immediately if you attempt to tamper with them at all or remove them completely.

“A useful feature on them is that they can be switched between your extremities at will. If you wish to switch it over to your other wrist, simply place them side-by-side and will it so.” Harry, slightly interested despite his mood, tried it. As soon as his wrists were aligned and he gave a mental command, the cuff became a chain that circled onto his right wrist and off of his left. Quirking a tiny grin of amusement, he quickly switched it back and returned his attention to their smiling teacher. “Also, the handcuffs will disappear completely if you link your hands together instead.” Flitwick paused, but Harry went back to glaring. He was not going to attempt that one, thank you kindly. The diminutive professor sighed, but waved them on. “That is all. Let me know if you have any problems with it, though you shouldn’t.”

Leaving him, the newly-shackled pair trudged over to where Professors Sprout and Vector were handing out their room assignments.

.o0O0o.

An hour later, an odd group of students had gathered at a table in the library. Harry was sitting at one end with Ron and Hermione, his left wrist stretched out to the side to distance him from Malfoy. Ron was sitting opposite him, with his right wrist similarly extended so that Zabini was even with Malfoy. Hermione was oddly quiet in their conversation as she fumed. She had gotten paired with a seventh year Hufflepuff named Lisa Benton, who was known to be even more notorious than Lavender Brown in her love of boys and makeup. The only things that had tersely left Hermione’s lips since they had sat down were razor-sharp comments whenever the girl tried to flirt with Harry or – more dangerously – Ron.

As much as he held no interest in the girl, he would normally have happily let her flirt with him rather than make Ron uncomfortable and let Hermione’s hackles raise. Despite this, his already frayed temper was quickly rendering his attempted smiles into grimaces. He tried to just ignore her and talk to his friends, but her voice was beginning to grate on him. He was _almost_ amused when Parkinson called her out from the other end of the table, wondering aloud if Benton had ever even been in the library before except on a ‘study date,’ and if she was aware that you were supposed to be _quiet_. It had (thankfully) shut her up for all of two minutes, but then she was back full force and Hermione was looking murderous.

Rubbing his temples and employing his useful new ‘count to four’ technique, Harry chanced a look down toward the Slytherins. Parkinson had quickly joined Malfoy and Zabini, practically dragging along an irritated-looking Ravenclaw girl that Harry didn’t recognize. He would have felt sorry for the girl, except her expression clearly stated that if she wasn’t afraid of getting blood on the precious books, she would cheerfully hack off Parkinson’s arm to get away.

After a couple hours of attempts at civility and complete disregard, they gave up on their efforts at both conversation and homework and decided to trudge off to their doom and inspect their respective new quarters.

Harry and Malfoy had been located on the third floor, with Hermione and Benton a few doors down. Ron and Zabini had been on the fourth floor, and Parkinson had mentioned something about the second floor before she’d flounced off. Harry was left idly wondering if the spacing was completely random.

Malfoy shoved ahead of him to enter the room, and Harry barely bit back a snarl. He ended up releasing the snarl along with a shove when Malfoy stopped short just inside the doorway. “What the hell, Malfoy?” he asked, and then followed the other boy’s line of vision. ... _Oh_.

There was only one bed.

“No. No way in hell. What the hell are they thinking!” Harry growled out, shoving a hand through his hair and pulling in an attempt to relieve the tension.

“Obviously, that we are all a bunch of Hufflepuffs who just need to hug it out,” Malfoy returned. It sounded like he was attempting to lay on his usual drawl, but fury was keeping the words a bit clipped. “I always figured they were stupid, but this was a spectacularly bright idea even for them.”

Harry sighed heavily. “I suppose it makes sense, though,” he added forlornly, earning him a raised eyebrow from Malfoy. “If we’re cuffed together, we wouldn’t be able to sleep in different beds,” he explained while scrubbing his right hand over his face. It had taken relatively little time to get used to just letting his left hand dangle there uselessly, for the most part.

Malfoy matched Harry’s sigh. “Couldn’t they have at least let us separate while in our shared quarters?” he asked morosely.

“Of course not. The only way to rid ourselves of the cuffs is to _hold hands_ ,” Harry mocked acidly. Not wanting to think about their sleeping arrangements any further at the moment, Harry kicked the door closed and tugged Malfoy over to a pair of desks set side-by-side along one wall. He threw his bag down haphazardly, unloading a few books and scrolls to be worked on later and rearranging the things that had been moved for him.

Malfoy was quiet for some time, surveying the rest of the room. Both of their trunks were at the end of the large bed, and Harry could only assume that the two wardrobes held the clothes they’d had hung up in their rooms. There were four squashy chairs set around a small table off to one side, where a window had been spelled to let in artificial sunlight. Two nightstands, a large mirror along one wall, and a myriad of candelabras finished off the space. There was another door, and Harry guessed it probably led to the loo.

Letting out a quiet sigh, Malfoy finally settled down into the adjacent chair and began trying to unpack his school things, occasionally tugging Harry’s cuffed hand when he forgot about their link.

.o0O0o.

Scrubbing cauldrons had been a horrendous chore without full usage of both hands. Harry had worked himself back into a mood over the course of the detention he’d shared with Malfoy. Usually, such detentions were annoying but somewhat soothing in their methodical repetitiveness. Harry was used to zoning out whenever he cleaned – a habit picked up early on while living with the Dursleys. But he and Malfoy had been on the verge of blows throughout the evening as neither of them could get a good grip _and_ scrub a cauldron. How they had managed to get any done at all was a mystery.

How they had both ended up coated in sticky, grimy water when Slughorn’s back was turned was not.

Trudging into their rooms, Harry wanted nothing more than a nice, scalding hot shower. It was a testament to how tired they both were that it took until they’d each kicked off their shoes to snap their heads up in horror. The handcuffs wouldn’t fade, and wouldn’t allow them to part.

They were going to have to go in there and shower _together_.

This… _this_ was just _not on_. Harry let out a stream of rather colourful invective, shoving a hand into his hair and pulling in aggravation. Malfoy looked about ready to explode. His face had gone crimson, and Harry briefly wondered if it was simply fury or if there was a bit of embarrassment threaded into it.

Choosing to just keep his mouth shut and not talk to Malfoy any more than necessary, Harry heaved a sigh and strode over to the en suite. Somehow, he had managed to avoid using the loo – likely due to the fact that he’d barely eaten or drunken more than necessary all day. Thankfully, the accommodations were somewhat spacious. The toilet had room around it, most likely for the other person to stand in. The counter was long enough for both of them to use at once, but only had one sink. _So we’ll have to share_ , Harry thought. Almost a combination of the two, the shower cubicle was quite large so that they would both have plenty of room…but there was only one showerhead.

Harry sincerely wanted to knock his head against the wall a few times. Unconsciousness sounded lovely – then he wouldn’t have to deal with this. Then again, unconsciousness meant that Malfoy would have free access to him, so maybe it wasn’t so appealing.

He heard Malfoy let out a small growl next to him, then felt his wrist jerked to the side. Stiffening his arm straight down to be stubborn, Harry began his own process of undressing. This…was going to suck. He was going to have to be naked in front of his rival, take a shower with said rival, be without his glasses (that weren’t exactly shower-friendly) with said rival, and also not freak out about any of it. Lovely.

Having kicked off his trousers and toed out of his socks, Harry went to drag his t-shirt over his head…and ran into another snag.

“How are we supposed to get our shirts off?” Malfoy demanded, voicing Harry’s thoughts while glaring down at the cuff. They both had their sleeves down to that wrist, but the cuff blocked it further.

After a short pause, Harry came rather unenthusiastically to an idea. “I really, really hate our professors,” he said, tugging his sleeve past the cuff to rest on the chain. Then he reached his bound hand for Malfoy’s, which was instinctively snatched away as far as it could be. Rolling his eyes, Harry shot Malfoy an exasperated look before snatching the hand. The chain swirled and dissolved, letting the shirt fall to the floor. Harry released Malfoy’s hand as soon as possible, dropping it as if it were diseased. The chain swirled back into existence, binding them once again.

Malfoy seemed to contemplate Harry’s fallen shirt and the cuff for a moment. When Harry was just about ready to simply do it for him, Malfoy shot him a look that clearly said he was an idiot. Then, with a smirk, he put his wrists together and transferred the cuff to the other side. The sleeve slid the rest of the way off his arm before he caught it and flicked it triumphantly into the hamper.

Harry glared.

After a brief argument, they agreed that Malfoy could shower first. The other person would stand by wearing a towel while the first one washed. That way, they wouldn’t get in each other’s way or have to fight over dual hand usage. It was still going to be horribly awkward, but hopefully it would help.

Truthfully, it wasn’t so much that either of them was embarrassed by another guy in the showers. They had both suffered through communal showers in their dorms, and the Quidditch showers were a whole new level of anti-privacy. But at those times they could stand at a decent distance from their mates and just focus on themselves. The walls and glass of the cubicle were admittedly spacious for two people – if they were friendly. Which Harry and Malfoy were not. Then, of course, there was Harry’s revelation he’d come to over the summer to add to his awkwardness...not that Malfoy needed to know about that.

Setting his glasses on the counter, he carefully avoided looking at the other boy as they padded into the shower. Harry had managed to ignore Malfoy when he removed his pants, and was more than happy to stare at the ceiling to avoid looking down. He situated himself against the wall next to the showerhead to attempt to not get wet just yet, closing his eyes and curling his cuffed hand into a loose fist.

“Planning on punching me, Potter?” Malfoy drawled as he turned on the taps. Harry felt a small spattering of mist, followed quickly by the ticklish warmth of steam.

“No, actually.” _For once_ , he added mentally. He really didn’t _want_ to start anything this year. And he especially didn’t want to start anything _while naked in the shower together_. “I figured this was safer for us both; I don’t have to worry as much about where my hand is. So if you’re washing your hair, my fingers won’t accidentally poke you in the eye or something.” _Like you washing your stomach and my fingers accidentally brushing something unmentionable._

Malfoy hmmed in response, then set about washing. Harry could hear the gentle splashing, and despite who he knew to be causing it he still started to find it relaxing. Every now and again, Malfoy would make a small sound or breathe a long exhale that spoke volumes of how much he was enjoying his shower. Some horrible little part of Harry’s mind was severely tempted to open his eyes to see the expressions that matched those disarming noises, but he severely stomped on that impulse. It was difficult enough to not match the relaxation of a shower with those noises and become…interested. Harry made sure to think of Headmistress McGonagall, with Professor Slughorn sycophantically agreeing that this was a brilliant idea. It worked wonders.

Harry had honestly begun to drift mentally by the time Malfoy nudged him to say it was his turn. The sounds and steam of the shower were doing wonders for his attitude, and the pleasant smell of Malfoy’s toiletries had actually made the atmosphere a bit nicer. He was still slightly apprehensive and generally peeved, but those weren’t the most prominent things on his mind anymore.

Malfoy had (thankfully) already wrapped a towel around his hips before he had prodded Harry. Harry pointedly stared at the shower taps to avoid excessive notice of the stray droplets that still ran down the other boy’s chest to the edge of the towel. _Stupid teenage libido that would find that hot on practically anyone_ , he grouched mentally, then tried to put it out of his mind. They shuffled to switch positions so that Harry could get at the shower stream. He was glad that Malfoy decided to busy himself with a comb whilst he whipped off his towel and stepped into the spray. Belatedly, he was also relieved that Malfoy hadn’t thought to turn the water freezing, as he didn’t think to check.

Harry warred with himself for a moment. Part of him just wanted to wash quickly and get this over with; Malfoy didn’t have his vision handicap and that made him nervous. The part of him that loved showers was slowly winning, though, along with the argument that he still felt rather disgusting after getting drenched in cauldron water. Turning the heat up just a tiny bit – Malfoy apparently also enjoyed his showers to be boiling – he just let the water sluice over him for awhile. It took awhile for it to penetrate his thick mop of hair anyway, so he happily tipped his head forward and let it pound against his scalp, neck, and shoulders.

Feeling a pleasant lassitude that even the alcohol from the night before couldn’t match, he eventually reached for his shower things and began to wash. Closing his eyes, it was easy to forget that Malfoy was there, save for the occasional clinking of their cuffs. Malfoy had taken to Harry’s idea, letting his loosely-clenched fist be guided along wherever Harry had need of his shackled hand. Harry made certain the bound hand got nowhere near his nether regions for exactly that reason. It would be his luck to be mindlessly washing and accidentally tug Malfoy’s hand into contact with his genitals or arse.

The calming scents of Harry’s own toiletries finally relaxed him so that he could think clearly. His mind turned over various subjects as he scrubbed, from Charms homework to that new WWW prank Ron had mentioned the day before to the fact that he’d have to grab more liquorice on their next Hogsmeade excursion. As he was rinsing off the last of his soap and conditioner, he finally let himself think about the current situation.

So they were stuck like this for the next three and a half months. Lovely. Maybe they could just ignore each other for the duration. Not likely, but Harry had accomplished impossible things before. He wasn’t looking forward to having to sit through the classes that he didn’t normally share with Malfoy, but maybe he could finish up homework then – or even get in a nap. Their days would be a little longer than twenty-four hours now with the use of Timeturners to attend all their classes, so naps would be good. Or maybe he’d aim for getting more sleep at night instead, since then it would be easier to not pay attention to each other.

Sleeping arrangements were an issue in and of themselves. Harry sighed heavily as he thought about it. He wondered if it was possible to centre a Silencing Charm on himself, but gave that notion up as he would be just as likely to wake Malfoy with his tossing and turning as with his cries if he were to have a nightmare. They weren’t as frequent, now that Voldemort wasn’t there to encourage them, but they still happened at least once a week. His dormmates usually kept pillows or other small, relatively soft things on hand to toss over at him to wake him up these days.

Harry was honestly terrified of waking up to find that he had cuddled Malfoy during the night. The only time he had ever slept in similar proximity to another person had been during the war, but he had been so exhausted then that he usually woke to find himself in the exact position he’d collapsed in. Life attached to Malfoy was likely going to be stressful, but nowhere near that level. The slight anxiety of sharing a bed with someone of his preferred gender as well as having to sleep next to his rival-and-former-enemy were also more likely to prevent him from sleeping than knock him out.

Finally shutting off the taps, Harry quickly pressed a bit of water out of his hair before wiping his hands over himself to get rid of the excess droplets. Finding a fresh towel, as his old one quite possibly had cauldron grime on it, he gave himself a quick pat down and wrapped it around his hips. He chanced a glance at Malfoy, who flicked his eyes over to Harry in a bored gesture. They exited the stall silently, dropping into their nightly bathroom rituals. Comb hair, brush teeth, have a shave (though Malfoy’s charm seemed to look more like waxing than Harry’s shaving charm), take a leak (embarrassing all over again), and so on.

Harry knew it was coming before Malfoy even opened his mouth. His hair had parted for the comb easily enough, but no sooner had he finished a stroke through it than it would go right back to sticking up haphazardly and gently curling in odd places. His hair, contrary to popular belief, actually saw a brush more often than once a century and was usually (mostly) untangled. It was just unruly in a way that defied both sense and gravity.

“Your hair really is a hopeless mop, isn’t it?” Malfoy snorted.

Harry felt his hackles raise, but reminded himself that he and various loved ones had said the same thing on numerous occasions. It was only because it was Malfoy that it rankled him. Trying (futilely) to hold onto his previous calm, he took a deep breath and agreed. “Indeed. I doubt even that nasty gel you used to wear in yours could keep it tamed,” he said offhandedly.

Malfoy shot him a dirty look, and Harry didn’t even try to hide the small smile that lit his face. Score one for him. Perhaps if he could keep his calm, this wouldn’t be so hard after all. He had his now-trusty ‘count to four’ technique to help him, too. With that thought in mind, he happily ignored Malfoy as they finished getting ready for bed.

Harry had to roll his eyes as Malfoy dragged him over so that he could get into his pyjamas first. The other boy was covered in gooseflesh, though, so Harry decided to be nice and let him get warm. The slight chill bothered Harry a bit less than most people. Not enough blankets in his childhood cupboard and the more recent stint of camping through the winter had made him a bit more resistant to the cold than normal. However, that didn’t mean it was all that _pleasant_ to be cold, so Harry dragged Malfoy over to his own wardrobe as soon as the other boy had pulled on his pants and bottoms.

Clean, dressed, and somewhat exhausted by the trying day, they briefly faced their next challenge. Almost simultaneously, they seemed to have the same idea to crawl into bed from the bottom instead of having to agree on whose side to enter from. Harry was tired enough to let his amusement show in a lopsided grin, which Malfoy just lifted an equally amused eyebrow in response to. Harry was momentarily disturbed that he could tell when Malfoy’s lifted eyebrow meant amusement, but he quickly ran in the other direction from that thought.

Figuring he should warn his new bedmate instead of having to deal with him getting pissy later, Harry cleared his throat. “If I have nightmares, just shove me until I wake up and I’ll shut up.” He figured that if he phrased it that way, Malfoy would take less offence. ‘Please wake me up because I really don’t want to be in the dream any more than you want to hear me having it,’ _might_ have worked, but probably not as well.

Malfoy let out a long, irritated breath, then turned over to face away from Harry as much as possible. After a few silent moments, Harry heard him mumble out, “...Same.” Grunting quietly in acknowledgement, Harry doused the lights and did his best to roll over and go to sleep.

Maybe they could survive this after all. They just needed to stay calm and ignore each other. The professors couldn’t really tell if they’d worked on issues if they seemed to get on well enough, right? They just had to stay calm, and it would all work out.

.o0O0o.

To their credit, it wasn’t until halfway into the third week of November that the first of their fights happened. They’d gotten by on silent treatments and screaming matches, broken quills and slammed books. It had been easy to make it through September and October without fighting because they rarely had to even be in the same room as one another. Seventeen days of sharing the same space finally broke them.

Harry had stumbled over an uneven stone in the floor, dropping his bag and almost taking Malfoy down with him. Malfoy, of course, had pitched in some derisive comment, and that had been that. Harry had yanked hard on the cuffs, using the falling boy’s momentum to connect his face with Harry’s fist. It had proven mildly difficult to fight with one of each of their hands bound, but they’d sufficed. It was the new Muggle Studies professor that had quickly stepped in to break them up, briefly dousing them in cold water.

The Headmistress had (naturally) been less than pleased, and they’d landed themselves a detention on Friday. Unfortunately, they didn’t even make it that long before they were at each other’s throats once again. By the end of the month, they had been booked up with detentions until the start of winter holidays and McGonagall had had enough. She’d sat them down in her office and given her ultimatum.

“You two will either stop fighting as of _right now_ , or I will be forced to expel you both.” Apparently the looks on both of their faces were flabbergasted enough that she took pity on them instead of continuing with a terse lecture. “It may seem extreme, but this has honestly gone on long enough. Other students seem to look to the two of you for cues, and this fighting has set a poor example. You are both young men now – and have grown up significantly in these past few years. I _know_ you can do better than this.” Her voice sounded tired and almost pleading.

Harry fidgeted in his seat. He hadn’t thought about the other students looking to him as an example, perhaps in part because he thought he wasn’t too great of one. But he should have known better. And he just _couldn’t_ get kicked out of Hogwarts. It was bad enough he would be forced to leave his first real home for good come the end of the school year without being _thrown_ out. And if he didn’t finish his schooling, he likely wouldn’t pass his N.E.W.T.s, and that was essential to his plans to apply for the Aurors after graduation...

He chanced a glance over at Malfoy and was actually briefly worried. He had gone white as a sheet, and there was a certain trace of terror in the tightly controlled look on his face. Then a whispered rumour came back to him. Finishing his schooling had been part of Malfoy’s parole, and an interruption of this would likely get him re-evaluated for prison time. Anti-Death-Eater sentiment was still high, regardless of reasons or actual participation, and it was possible that he could even get sent to Azkaban for a short while. Perhaps it wouldn’t be quite so bad without the Dementors, but Harry recalled Sirius saying that it was pretty damn bleak and horrible even when they weren’t around.

Still, it was obvious that Malfoy was terrified of the prospect, and Harry had serious qualms with sending anyone there who hadn’t been thoroughly proven to have been the worst of the worst. Azkaban had been intended for murderers and rapists – horrible people who deserved suffering; the way the Ministry was quick to lock people in there these past several years was discomfiting. Harry had spoken up during the trials to try to steer everything away from that awful trend, but had met with limited success.

It dawned on him then that they really would need to learn a bit more civility. It was difficult, yes – they knew how to crawl under each other’s skin like no other. Harry wasn’t certain that _Voldemort_ could piss him off quite so easily. Ignoring each other only worked for so long, too. They were surprisingly both rather social people, and long periods of silence seemed to send them both clawing up the walls. Or, recently, each other. Literally, if those really were scratches Harry could feel behind his left ear and going down his throat.

Both of them had been subdued through the rest of McGonagall’s tired warning, though Harry’s mind had been working several ideas over. In addition to the other personal issues, Harry also didn’t like feeling like he’d let McGonagall down, and she looked rather worn and haggard in addition to sad and stern this time. He and Malfoy weren’t the only ones that didn’t want them to get expelled, he realized. He picked his brain for ideas on how to fix this, discarding most of them as stupid.

The walk back to their room afterwards was eerily silent save for the ambient sounds of their clothes rustling and cuffs clinking. Once inside, they went to their usual first place and plopped down at their desks. They seemed to do better at ignoring each other if they had something else to focus on – and if it was quiet, like reading or writing, then the other wouldn’t get as easily annoyed. Harry heard the muted scratching of Malfoy’s quill after a moment, and made a decision.

He got a scrap of parchment and his own quill out, then jotted down some of the things that he and Malfoy should probably discuss. Maybe it would be easier if he had a physical list there to tell him what to do next instead of having to deal with Malfoy _and_ remember to stick to his plan at the same time. He scratched out and rewrote a few things here and there as he mulled over each topic, trying to make it as non-incendiary as possible. Wetting his lips nervously, he cleared his throat to get Malfoy’s attention.

When he heard the quill stop, he asked, “Are you busy right now?” He didn’t want to drag the other boy away from homework if he was; that would likely just add distraction and frustration to this stupid talk. Not wanting it to seem urgent, though, he focused on fiddling with the scrap his list was on instead of looking at Malfoy as he waited.

“Not really,” was the guarded response, but Harry heard him set down his quill.

“So, I’ve got an idea, so please listen,” he entreated. “Neither of us wants to get expelled, and believe it or not I’m _not_ trying to get you expelled. While it might be preferable to ignore each other for the duration of the school year, that obviously isn’t working. I think…well, I think we kinda need to talk about stuff…maybe.” _That was lame_ , he told himself, then before Malfoy could respond he hastily added, “We could sit in the comfortable chairs over there, across from each other at the table. Then even if we want to throttle each other the table is in the way.”

There was silence emanating from next to him for a few lengthy moments, and then Malfoy let out a long exhale. “Fine,” was the eventual terse reply. Harry felt a tug on the cuffs as Malfoy got up and hastened to follow. They settled themselves and Harry was slightly pleased that Malfoy seemed to have brought along his own bit of blank parchment and a quill. When the other boy simply lifted an eyebrow at him, Harry realized he was expected to start.

Clearing his throat, Harry fiddled with his list just a bit. “Okay, um…well… For starters, I don’t actually hate you. Don’t get me wrong – I do think you’re horribly annoying and I’m not terribly fond of you. I just…well, I don’t think I actually ever _hated_ you, even when we were kids. I honestly didn’t know what real hate was back then, and so I interpreted strong dislike as hate and…this is awkward and I’m babbling.” He sighed scrubbing a hand over his face. Maybe this was a stupid idea.

Malfoy squirmed opposite him. “I…guess I don’t actually hate you either. I really did after you got my father arrested, and for a time after you escaped the Manor because my family was punished for it. _And_ you had taken my wand. But…” He fidgeted with his paper a moment. “I do realize now that those really weren’t your fault, and you didn’t do it maliciously. We were…in the wrong. It’s easier to blame someone else when you’re stuck in the thick of it, though.”

Harry nodded, a quick smile flitting over his features. Maybe this wasn’t a bust after all. Though the majority of his most effective ideas were those he came up with on the fly under duress, every now and again he came up with a gem while planning. “Okay, well, not hating each other is a start, I guess.” _Stupid._ “Er, right, um…something else, then…”

“Do you actually enjoy your fame?” Malfoy shot out, relieving Harry from trying to pick something tame from his list of annoyances. “And have you ever?”

The question surprised him, but Harry supposed it shouldn’t have. “N–” he stopped short in his denial. “Um, not once I figured out what I was famous for,” he replied honestly.

Malfoy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Once you figured it out.”

“Er…yeah. Um.” Harry tugged on a lock of his hair, debating on telling Malfoy this. Then again, maybe it would help. “My relatives, um, never told me anything. When Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley for the first time, everyone was all happy to see me. It was nice, and I admit I soaked it up a little. But then I asked him why they kept calling me The-Boy-Who-Lived. …I never liked it after that.” He felt his mouth set in a line, his eyes narrowing at the table in memory. Really, who wanted to be constantly reminded that their parents were dead?

Malfoy stared at him for a few moments, seeming to think it over. “All right, I can accept that,” he finally said.

Harry counted slowly to four to keep from bristling. He _wanted_ to say that he was _so_ glad that Malfoy found it _acceptable_ , but was trying not to get into it this early in the conversation. Malfoy was still a git, and a self-entitled one at that; that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon. Or ever./p>

“Moving on.” Harry looked over his list, but when he went to speak Malfoy threw out another question first.

“Then why are you always jumping into some sort of danger? And schmoozing with influential people? You seemed to enjoy knowing that you would never get in trouble.”

Harry glared at him, but did his best to digest the questions and not just take offence to them. “I don’t purposefully jump into danger.” Malfoy snorted, and Harry shook his head and raised a hand to silence whatever sarcastic remark he seemed about to throw out. “Really, I don’t. I just don’t like seeing people harmed, and if I can help stop it then I will. Or if I can act to pre-empt an undertaking that would lead to people being harmed, as well. If I could accomplish that in a manner that was completely safe and unnoteworthy, I would be happy to. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to ever be the case.”

Working up steam for a good rant, now that Malfoy was listening, Harry continued. “And I don’t schmooze. Dumbledore had his own reasons for doting on me, and I looked up to him a lot – there was nothing more beyond that for me. I didn’t suck up to him to get things I wanted, and most of the time when I mentioned something I actually needed he wouldn’t comply because he thought I couldn’t handle taking on Voldemort just yet. He was right, sometimes, but it was shit like that that led to in no one taking me seriously and my godfather dying as a result.

“McGonagall was my Head of House, and she doted on all of us in her own way. She and Dumbledore were also friends with my parents, and I think they sort of wanted to look after me in their absence. Again, no sucking up there, just them giving a damn. If you even think about Lockhart or Slughorn, please, let me assure you that I would have gladly avoided either of them. Lockhart was an idiot and a fraud, and it made me ill just to be stuck in the same castle as him. Slughorn at least knows his stuff – though admittedly not as well as Snape – but he’s right annoying.” Malfoy blinked in surprise, probably at Harry’s offhanded praise of Snape. “I don’t _want_ to be famous or the centre of attention. I don’t _care_ about that stuff. I like the ordinary attention I get from my friends and the motherly doting I get from Mrs. Weasley and, sure, like anyone, I would like the attention of a significant other. And I reciprocate in equal kind. But I have NO interest in dealing with people who don’t actually give a shit about me and just want to be seen with someone famous.” He knew he was worked up now, and half of his words were partially growled, but he was on a roll. He wasn’t angry at Malfoy, actually, just frustrated in general. “Fudge was an arse and an imbecile who cared more for his title than what he was _supposed_ to do with it,” he sniffed derisively. “Scrimgeour wanted me to be the Ministry’s puppet poster boy, and I firmly refused. I never invited their attentions, and I didn’t care to keep them.”

Taking a deep breath, he aimed at the last accusation. “I _did_ get in trouble when I deserved it, but not blatantly. There was too much riding on how people viewed me,” Harry wrinkled his nose at that, “and so I was punished much more privately when it was required. None of the actions I took were with the idea that I wouldn’t get punished for them – I figured I would if anyone found out. However, even if Dumbledore and the ministers and every single professor had hated me from day one, I would have still done it. When I broke the rules, it was almost always because it was for something I found necessary to stopping people from being harmed. If I were to get expelled for it, then that would be what it had to be. I did _hope_ that I wouldn’t get into too much trouble, of course, but I didn’t plan on it.” Taking a deep breath to release the last of that tension, he looked back at Malfoy with his jaw set stubbornly.

Malfoy, for his part, just sat there. His eyes were a bit wider than normal, and he actually seemed to be absorbing what Harry said. After a short while, he gave a slow nod. _I suppose he finds that ‘acceptable,’_ Harry mused.

“So…no perfect Potter?” he asked quietly, a smirk just barely twitching at his lips.

Harry laughed. “No, not at all. I’m very imperfect, and I know it more than anyone.”

“And your hair really is atrocious.” Malfoy seemed to have relaxed into a gentle teasing tone that Harry had only heard before when they were drunk.

“I know,” Harry groaned, rolling his eyes.

There was silence for a few moments, letting the last topic settle. Harry thought about picking something off his list, but the way Malfoy was fidgeting with his quill made Harry think he had more to say. The other boy seemed to come to a decision and took a deep breath.

Quietly, he began to speak. “I grew up being taught that my parents were perfect, I was perfect, and that none of us could do any wrong. I never really thought twice about the ideals I followed, because they were taught to me by my _perfect_ parents and thus were infallible. I also never thought too hard about what they really meant. It was easy to talk about how people unlike my family should die when I had no real concept of death. I had never seen it, and it had never affected my life.” He paused, as if to choose his words carefully.

“I can admit now that we were…wrong. I still have an aversion to Muggleborns, but I don’t think they deserve to die. They just…make me uncomfortable.” He didn’t seem to like admitting that, but it certainly piqued Harry’s curiosity. “And, to be honest, you don’t go your whole life hating people – even for the wrong reasons – and then immediately drop that as soon as you realize you’re wrong.” He shrugged uncomfortably.

Harry had an idea. “Is it…because most Muggleborns don’t honour a lot of Wizarding tradition?” he ventured, getting him a startled look from Malfoy. “I’ve realized that some of the practices brought over from the Muggle world seem to rub a lot of pure-bloods the wrong way. I noticed that, at the Halloween party, they seemed a bit more at ease with the Muggle decorations once it became clear that we were also following a lot of the Wizarding traditions – like that ritual thing.”

Malfoy nodded slowly. When Harry grinned, it was half-triumphant and half-wicked. “Hermione was the one who insisted on that, by the way,” he said in a sickly-sweet manner.

“Granger?” Malfoy barked back, clearly thrown off.

“That’s the only Hermione I know, so yes,” Harry returned. He was having a hard time not laughing at the look at Malfoy’s face. It seemed like a mixture of confusion and finding out that the world as you know it has gone pear-shaped. After a little while, he broke and a few snickers escaped. Malfoy glared at him, but without any real heat behind it. Harry thought he heard the other boy mutter the word ‘sadist,’ which only made him laugh harder.

“Perhaps…” Malfoy began. “Perhaps I could…eventually…not dislike some of them.” He seemed uncomfortable with the idea, but Harry smiled anyway. “So…Granger was _really_ the one who included that?”

“Insisted on it. Some people thought she was just trying to make them learn, but I know her better,” he said with a happy smile. Hermione had more to her than some people thought – hell, than _most_ people thought.

Malfoy nodded again, still looking uncomfortable, but also seeming to take this information in to think about. After the uneasy silence started to stretch a little, Harry cleared his throat. “So…no perfect Malfoy either?”

“Sod off,” Malfoy drawled back, but there was a very small grin trying to ruin his glare. “I will fervently deny ever having said such a thing, I hope you realize.”

“I do. I think my friends would believe me more, though. But perhaps I’ll keep the part about you actually saying so to myself,” he added when Malfoy began to look angry. He nearly sighed aloud in relief when the look slid back to thoughtful.

They touched on a few smaller issues very briefly, but they had seemed to clear one very large obstacle. Everything else had seemed rather reserved after that. Mostly they would draw their own _new_ conclusions about things that had previously bothered them, agreed to by the other party. It had been enlightening. Harry hoped it was enough to keep them from getting at each other’s throats at least for a little while.

“…And finally, I didn’t really mean to show off at Quidditch. I just love to fly – probably my favourite thing to do in the world. The challenge of Quidditch is just fun. And, well…you always like to piss me off, so usually I was simply returning the favour when I _did_ taunt you,” Harry finished his last explanation. Malfoy seemed to find that _acceptable_ as well.

Harry was a little exhausted after this. He had quite a bit to ponder over, and he was sure that Malfoy did as well. He would have preferred to sit back and have a quiet think about it for awhile, but if the clock over his desk was correct then it was time to go and serve their detention with Flitwick. Sadly, he usually had to actually think about the tasks that professor would assign them, so there would be no quiet contemplation there. Malfoy seemed to notice Harry’s line of sight, and was quick to escape the table to get ready to go.

“Hey Malfoy?” Harry ventured as he gathered his own necessities. The other boy turned to him with a raised brow. “Do you think, um… Well, maybe instead of flying off the handle at each other, we could, uh, do something like this when we get annoyed? Even if it’s just ranting at each other? Y’know…no wands and with a buffer between us to keep us from trying to rearrange each other’s faces?” he asked hopefully.

Malfoy nodded curtly. “I think that is possibly one of the best ideas I’ve heard come out of your mouth. I like my nose where it is, and your attempts at rearranging it have been quite troublesome. This was...”

“Acceptable?” Harry gave his most shit-eating grin, getting a glare from Malfoy. He enjoyed a good laugh until Malfoy ‘accidentally’ ran him into the doorframe.

It would take work, but maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

.o0O0o.

Harry was terrified the moment Hermione bounced up on him with a grin stretching her features. Sure, she wasn’t quite the goody-goody that he’d met in first year, but it was still scary when she had obviously been up to something. Hilariously, the fact that her bond-partner looked perfectly awed only added to this effect.

Hermione wasted no time in putting on an innocent expression and telling them that the Headmistress had agreed to allow the upper years to throw a holiday party the night before most of them would be going home for winter holidays. It was in the interests of House unity, after all. In fact, she was so pleased at the number of students who had agreed to pitch in that the teachers would not be in attendance.

Harry laughed until he felt tears prick his eyes. Benton’s awe made sense now. Even Malfoy seemed amused. Dear Merlin, he loved Hermione.

They agreed that they would be there, and she somehow roped them into helping set up as soon as they got out of their last detention. Malfoy had that ‘world has gone pear-shaped’ look again when Hermione asked him to help with input on any of the Wizarding traditions she might be unaware of. Harry later explained that if Hermione was on a mission and you were nearby and had a skill she required, you were as good as recruited.

He and Malfoy had managed to make it the last couple weeks with minimal confrontation. They’d had several screaming matches and had reverted to ignoring each other relatively often still, but they were getting better at this talking thing. Malfoy had thrown a book at his head once, but luckily Harry had dodged it.

Harry and Malfoy had shared an amused look when Slughorn let them out of detention early so that they could help with the party. Malfoy had come to really see that Harry never _asked_ for special treatment – it was just thrown at him unsolicited. And, well, it had its occasional advantages. No Slytherin would overlook that, and Malfoy seemed to be enjoying his special-treatment-by-association.

 

Taking the time to clean up and dress in something nice, they headed off to the doom of Hermione’s planning team. The Room of Requirement would supply everything they needed, but they needed to figure out just what exactly that was first. Seven explanations, fifteen diagrams, and three arguments later, the small team in charge declared the room finished. They had half an hour to relax, and then the rest of the students began to turn up.

Harry studiously (and sadly) avoided that (wonderfully tasty) treacle tart drink from before, but eventually found himself talked into some other concoction. He’d even tried one of the overwhelmingly sweet, tremendously sour, bright green drinks that Malfoy seemed fond of. He’d liked it, surprisingly, but he still preferred a lack of sour flavouring.

Harry was beginning to question the ingeniousness of his decision to stay away from the treacle tart drink. Whatever this other thing was he’d gotten instead seemed to hit a lot harder. And he only realized this after he’d had three. And was now sitting in a circle full of people with a bottle in the middle and no idea how he’d been talked into this.

They had switched up the rules of the game a little this time. If someone got you on a spin, then you still had to snog them. However, it was then your bond-partner that had to spin and kiss the next person.

There was a small part of Harry’s mind that was frantically trying to think of some way out of this, but it seemed to be stranded in a sea of thought-occluding alcohol. Malfoy was also drunk and swaying slightly next to him, proving to be absolutely no help with Harry’s dilemma. If his expression was anything to go by, all was right with the world. Seeing no way to escape without drawing too much attention, Harry resigned himself to his fate. He wasn’t lucky enough to not get picked at some point. Or Malfoy would get picked, and then Harry would have to spin. _At least Ginny isn’t playing this time_ , Harry noted, chancing a glance over to where she and her partner were spectating. _Probably because she learned her lesson last time._

More drinks and a bowl of snacks had been passed around the circle as time went on, and Harry was happily enjoying decimating a candy cane when it finally happened. He glared at the offending bottle as it pointed at him, willing it to move a bit more to his right instead. No such luck. He blinked slowly and looked around to identify just who had spun it. He’d been unintentionally letting his mind wander a bit and hadn’t kept up with the game.

Adam Crowley, a seventh year Ravenclaw, was sitting closest to it, his Slytherin partner looking bored. Harry was admittedly grateful. Crowley was mildly attractive and not as stuck up as some of his Housemates. He was also openly bi, so there was the relief of that bit of awkwardness not having to happen. Harry had pondered possibly asking him out at one point, but decided against it. It would have been a terrible idea to ask the other out simply because he was attractive and of similar sexuality. Harry (stupidly) shook himself out of his thought, then needed to brace himself to regain his equilibrium after that. Poking at Malfoy’s shoulder – and just when had he started leaning against the other boy? – he slowly made his way to the centre of the circle.

There were a few whistles and jeers thrown out as he crawled forward, but he paid them no mind. Crowley grinned once he was in range, then dove in for a snog. It was nice, but he was a bit too all-over-the-place for Harry, so Harry took it upon himself to trap the other boy’s jaw and kiss him properly. Firmly planting his hands on Crowley’s cheeks, Harry set about making this good. He had to chuckle when he felt the other boy whimper and grab onto his wrists, but it didn’t stop him for long. It had been awhile since he’d kissed anyone, and he was rather enjoying this despite his earlier reservations.

What finally ended the kiss was when one of Harry’s hands was yanked away from Crowley’s face, breaking their contact. Harry realized he’d sat back on his haunches, and the other boy had been leaning precariously forward to comply with his grip, when Crowley almost pitched into his lap at the lack of support. It took a moment of fumbling before he could back off, and then Harry turned a questioning look on Malfoy.

Malfoy shot him a dirty look, only confusing Harry more. Did he have something against a boy kissing another boy? Most of the Wizarding world seemed pretty okay with it – even the pure-bloods – so Harry didn’t really expect that. Maybe it was just that he still didn’t like seeing Harry enjoy himself. Or maybe… Hah! No. Harry gave a small laugh at that wayward thought, leaving Malfoy as the confused one.

He finally came back to his surroundings when some smartarse called out to Crowley, “Not gonna cry now, are ya?” There was quite a bit of laughing, and Harry glared in the general direction of the shout. He (unfortunately) wasn’t certain who it had come from.

Crowley did look oddly dazed, and for a moment Harry was worried that he really might _not_ be okay. Then he seemed to partly come to himself and – still dazed – called back, “The only thing I wanna cry about is that he _stopped_.”

Harry turned scarlet at that. There was a roar of laughter and quite a few lewd jibes thrown around, and Harry wasn’t sure that being complimented made him want to crawl under a rock any less than if he’d been insulted. Thankfully, Crowley’s partner finally growled and all but dragged the other boy out of the circle. Remembering himself after a moment, Harry backed up to let Malfoy at the bottle.

Malfoy was still giving him a Look, but turned away and gave the bottle a decent spin. Harry felt an odd jolt of sickly anticipation as it slowly skittered to a stop. He followed the line of the bottle’s neck to where it pointed: a lecherously grinning Pansy Parkinson.

“Oh hell,” Malfoy stated loudly, making Harry snicker.

“Hush, darling,” she tutted, crawling forward in a way that gave Harry a view down her blouse that he never wanted to think about ever again. “It’s not like you’ve never kissed me before, you know.” She seemed highly amused by Malfoy’s distaste.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, waving her statement off. “I’m just gagging at the thought of where your mouth has been since you last brushed your teeth,” he drawled, creeping into position anyway.

“I brushed them just before the party!” she shot indignantly as she leaned forward.

“And it’s been two hours since then. Hence my worry.” Her rejoinder was cut off as he closed the distance, snogging her well but with an obvious lack of interest. Harry felt his stomach drop out but was only partially able to convince himself that it was because he didn’t want to see Malfoy _or_ Parkinson kiss _anyone_. He hadn’t actually cared when the girl had done it to anyone else earlier on that night, and he didn’t usually mind when he saw straight couples kiss (except for Ron and Hermione, but he thought of them like siblings and that was just all manner of wrong to see).

They parted quickly, almost as soon as it seemed acceptable to do so. They shared a grin, and then Parkinson leaned back in to give Malfoy another friendly smooch. Harry had never thought a kiss on the mouth ever looked so platonic, which was all manner of weird. “I’ve missed that, darling. You never kiss me anymore!” Parkinson teased.

“I don’t. Mostly because I figured out why I never really liked to,” Malfoy returned, laughing as he darted back to avoid her shove. Then she was shooing them away and handing her unenthusiastic bond-partner the bottle.

Harry was glad when Malfoy accepted being dragged away from the circle with the excuse that he wanted another drink. He really didn’t want any more alcohol, but he felt a bit uneasy over what he’d just witnessed and didn’t care for a repeat.

But Malfoy had tugged him away from the other boy first. And then he didn’t seem to care at all about kissing Parkinson in a more than perfunctory manner. And he figured out something that made him not like kissing her, though he didn’t seem to hate it. And maybe Harry was just drunk and thinking too hard and should stop.

They got their drinks, and Malfoy insisted they try one of the chocolate cake shots Harry had mentioned before ‘to clear the taste out of their mouths.’ He was rather insistent, so Harry just shrugged and complied. After that, things were a bit woozy but Harry would later recall lots of laughing and falling down. It was only some kind of miracle that found them stumbling back into their own bed in those wee hours of morning just before the sun rose. Harry just barely remembered the happy smile they shared before consciousness left him, but it sure as hell stuck with him from the moment he woke the next morning.

.o0O0o.

Christmas morning dawned bright and early, and Harry wasn’t certain whether it was he or Malfoy who shot off the spell to block out the artificial sunlight from pouring in through their fake window. He rather enjoyed getting to sleep in for once – he was used to being roused by one of his dormmates, one of the Weasleys, or a house-elf on Christmas these past several years. Well, not the previous Christmas, but he hadn’t even realized then what day it was until Hermione had said something.

They had agreed to stay back at Hogwarts for the winter holiday. The stupid handcuffs still bound all the students, and many of the parents had seemed to find it amusing to assist in making joint holiday plans. Harry had no interest in visiting Malfoy Manor at any point in the next three lifetimes. Malfoy was similarly against going to The Burrow. (Harry wasn’t entirely keen on being around Ginny anyway, as she was still rather slow about getting less-pissy with him.) Grimmauld Place would just be empty save for the two of them and Kreacher – and wouldn’t have Hogwarts’s usual Christmas Feast – so that had been decided against as well.

After a nice lie-in, Harry stretched and reached for his glasses. Malfoy still had his eyes resolutely closed, but Harry could tell he was awake. He laughed and shoved at the other boy gently. “C’mon, I wanna open presents,” he stated, nudging the other boy more when he still didn’t move. After about the sixth nudge Harry could see that Malfoy was trying not to laugh as he kept his eyes shut. “You prat!” With a louder laugh, he shoved Malfoy one last time before giving a large pinch to his hip.

As predicted, Malfoy yelped and gave in to his laughter, trying to squirm away. Harry had learned that Malfoy was ticklish when Parkinson had bid him goodbye and left for the holidays. He hadn’t taken advantage of this knowledge until now, but Malfoy’s glare was totally worth it. The other boy shot a few crude names at him, but Harry just rolled his eyes and dragged him to the end of the bed to get at their piles of presents. Harry had a rather hefty assortment that year, but Malfoy still had more. Harry shook his head and laughed. _Spoiled brat._

Harry’s stomach was growling as they neared the bottoms of their stacks. The bed and floor were littered with scraps of paper in every colour imaginable, and Harry was half-buried in it. Malfoy had yet to notice the tiny blue bow that Harry had snuck on top of his head, but Harry knew he was going to get it as soon as the other boy looked in the mirror.

Harry bit his lip and tried to appear nonchalant as Malfoy came to a neatly-wrapped black box. He checked all over it for a tag, but Harry knew there wouldn’t be one. Cautiously, he opened it away from himself before peering in. Inside appeared to be eighteen lollipops with shiny red wrapping. It took Draco a moment to find the description, but when he did he snatched one up. Pausing before he stuck the treat in his mouth, he gave Harry a calculating look. Harry rather failed at hiding his grin as he fiddled with the wrapping on one of his own presents. Malfoy snorted and popped the sweet in his mouth.

Harry was constantly making a face at Malfoy’s favoured treat, and had pretended to gag when Malfoy first mentioned dipping the blood-flavoured lollipops in chocolate. He didn’t even pretend to understand what Malfoy enjoyed about those things, but he had indulged his partner’s affection for them for the sake of Christmas. It hadn’t been easy to order them on the sly when the other boy was _right there_ all the time and nosing into what he was getting other people, but he’d managed to get out the custom order mixed with the handful of other presents he’d had to send out for. If the happy noises that Malfoy was making meant he would be a bit more pleasant today, then Harry was happy.

The last present Harry picked up was trussed up in pretty silver paper that Harry was almost sorry to tear off. The card had been wrapped into the paper, and simply read, _If you have to ask, then I fear for your intelligence._ He looked askance at Malfoy, who was pointedly ignoring him in favour of one of his new trinkets. Harry grinned.

Opening the simple wooden box carefully, Harry smiled. Set on some dark red velvet was a large replica of a snitch with the wings curved slightly up. It was gorgeous, and he loved it immediately. When he lifted it out, he was briefly confused as the golden wings split and a translucent silver pair started beating upward rapidly. And then he saw it. Whenever the wings crossed, an image would solidify on them. It only took a few moments for the wings to speed up until the image seemed solid.

There was a picture of Hermione, and it looked to be very recent. _That was really rather nice of Malfoy_ , he thought. And then the picture changed, and a grinning Ron waved at him instead. Harry felt his smile widen further, then waited to see if it would change again. It did. Pictures of his friends came and went, smiling and waving at him happily. Luna, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Hannah, Justin, Oliver, Katie...the list of schoolmates and former schoolmates went on. Other faces popped up as well, some of the pictures a bit less recent and likely not taken for this purpose. Teddy, Molly, Arthur, McGonagall, Flitwick, Kingsley, Andromeda, Bill, Charlie, George– And then Harry had to bite his lip hard. Harry just somehow _knew_ that the next picture wasn’t George – it was Fred. He felt his throat close up little by little as the pictures cycled on and he saw more beloved faces. Tonks, Remus, Moody, his mum, his dad, Dumbledore – even a laughing picture of Sirius that Harry had kept hidden in his trunk because it made his heart hurt.

When the pictures finally cycled back to a cheery Hermione, he gently set the precious gift back down on the velvet before launching himself at Malfoy. The other boy seemed startled by Harry’s hug, but Harry felt him relax and pat him on the back after a moment. The gift obviously had quite a bit of thought put into it, and Harry was more than touched. He wondered just who Malfoy had talked into getting him all of those pictures – and of just about everyone that Harry cared about, no less. It didn’t matter, truthfully, but the scope of it made Harry grip a little tighter for a second before he released the other boy and sat back. “Thank you,” he said, quietly but sincerely.

Malfoy grinned at him, then motioned toward his box of lollies. “And to you as well.”

Harry snorted. His gift seemed to pale in comparison. “Yours was very thoughtful.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, seeming to resign himself to placating Harry. “Yes, but most people know you love your friends. These,” he displayed the box regally, as if it were some precious artefact, “show that you were actually paying attention to something I mentioned offhandedly. Once. And remembered.” Malfoy smiled at him again, and Harry had to clear his throat and turn away.

Malfoy had smiled at him a couple of times since the night of the party, and it did some rather funny things to Harry’s insides. He wanted to blame it on the fact that he hadn’t been comfortable enough to wank since the start of this handcuff business, but he was pretty bad at deluding himself these days. Having spent his summer engaging in pretty much nothing except self-reflection had rather lessened that ability.

Harry took his glasses off to clean them on his pyjama top, as they’d gotten smudged against Malfoy’s neck during the hug. As he was bringing them back to his face, Malfoy reached over and deftly plucked them out of his hand. “Hey!”

Malfoy tucked the frames onto his face and grinned at Harry. “How do I look?”

Harry glared. “You know right well I’m all but blind without those.”

“You can see well enough this close,” Malfoy returned with a shrug.

“If I squint.”

“Then squint.”

Harry growled at him, but shifted a bit closer. He would have a hell of a time getting the glasses back if he didn’t comply, he knew. He didn’t want them to get broken again. He’d gotten new ones fitted over the summer and was trying to be a bit more careful with them than the last pair...which had finally met their end as a melted pile of goop after the demonstration of an experimental Wheeze.

When he huffed and looked over to actually evaluate Malfoy, he felt his breath stutter in his throat. He cleared it to (futilely) try to get rid of the sensation, but wasn’t about to look away. If Malfoy had been attractive before, he was certainly more so now. The glasses seemed to soften the pointy angles of his face, and magnified his eyes just slightly. They made him look older, or at least more sophisticated. He looked like a scholar instead of a schoolboy, and Harry was briefly jealous of that.

Harry knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. This hit him harder than the smile.

“Well? You really are blind, I think, if _these_ make you see clearly. I can’t make out a bloody thing.” Harry was grateful that Malfoy hadn’t seen his expression. Or noticed his staring. “How do they look?” Malfoy was getting petulant, so Harry shook himself out of it.

“They look stupid,” he deadpanned, earning him a punch to the shoulder. He laughed as Malfoy slid the glasses off to angle a withering glare at him.

“Honestly,” Malfoy demanded.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Honestly? They look good. Happy?”

Malfoy took a moment to mime thinking about it. “Hmm...no. I want to see myself.” He dragged Harry up so that he could go stand in front of the mirror. However, no matter how close or far away he got, he just couldn’t see himself clearly. Malfoy swore, his face clouding in thought. Harry really wished he wouldn’t chew on his lip that way while wearing those glasses. It really wasn’t at all fair.

“I’ve got it!” he crowed after a few moments. He chucked Harry his glasses and then went in search of his slippers. He made Harry put his own slippers on before dragging him toward the door.

“Wait! Are you mad? It’s freezing out there!” Harry protested, planting his feet and pulling on their cuffs to stall the other boy.

Malfoy reluctantly gave in, running back for a fluffy robe. It was Christmas, so it wasn’t uncommon to see people running about in their P.J.s throughout the day. Harry went to pick up his newest Weasley jumper – a light grey number with a fuchsia ‘H’ on it this year. It was a terrible combination, but he usually only wore them for Christmas and boxing day before packing them up.

“If you wear that, I will refuse to be seen with you,” Malfoy commented.

“I don’t think the cuff gives you a choice in that matter,” Harry taunted in return, smiling not-so-sweetly as he tugged the hideous garment on. They were always so warm and comfy that Harry would immediately forgive their ugliness as soon as he put his on.

Malfoy harrumphed at him, but quickly went back to tugging him out of their room. Harry sighed and allowed himself to be led wherever it was that they were going. He didn’t bother to ask – he knew that his only response would be ‘you’ll see’ until they got there. Down to the ground floor they went, then veered to a left entrance into the dungeons. Two more staircases and Harry thought he recognized the area. When they stopped in front of Snape’s old personal quarters, Harry recognized it immediately. Malfoy gave the password and slipped in.

“I inherited my godfather’s things when he...” Malfoy cleared his throat, then ploughed on. “I hadn’t gotten a chance to send them home yet, so they’re still here,” he explained, rifling through a cabinet. “I know it’s here somewhere...” he mumbled, switching to the next cabinet.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Harry asked helpfully. Maybe he could be of assistance, not that he’d been in here often. And then they could get back to their warm room...or maybe nip into the Great Hall for some food.

“You’ll see,” Malfoy muttered distractedly, making Harry smack himself in the forehead and groan. He should’ve known.

It took another fifteen minutes of searching, but Malfoy finally crowed in triumph. Harry immediately recognized the item he pulled out and blanched.

“We can use this!” Malfoy announced with a grin, turning to set the Pensieve on a worktable.

“No,” Harry said as soon as he reclaimed his mental facilities. “No, no, ohhhhh no, absolutely not. I refuse.” There was no way in hell that he was letting Malfoy see the way Harry had looked at him while he was blind.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him stubbornly, but Harry stood his ground. “Either this or I’ll have to hunt down Creevey and suffer him taking my picture. And you’ll be there, so you’ll have to deal with him too,” he threatened.

_Well, damn._ Harry groaned. He wasn’t certain which fate was worse – Malfoy possibly seeing a stupid expression or having to deal with Dennis. True, Harry kinda liked the kid, and he felt horrible for what had happened to his brother during the war. That didn’t mean he enjoyed being repeatedly assaulted with a camera for no real reason any more than when Colin had first started it.

“You suck,” he informed Malfoy, who just raised his eyebrows in expectation. Harry peered down into the viscous liquid in the basin, noticing that it didn’t hold any of the memories it had the last time he’d seen it. He was reminded of the vial he kept well protected in the most hidden corner of his trunk and shivered.

Putting his wand to his temple, Harry concentrated and slowly began to spin out the memory of that morning. He kept it short, making sure to leave out the bit with the hug before it. He swirled it carefully into the waiting basin, then looked at Malfoy. “Ready when you are,” he mumbled with a sigh.

Malfoy stepped forward eagerly, and they both leaned down to slip into the memory.

_Harry took his glasses off to clean them on his pyjama top, as they’d gotten smudged. As he was bringing them back to his face, Malfoy reached over and deftly plucked them out of his hand. “Hey!”_

Malfoy snickered, making Harry shove at him. Absolute. Prat.

_Malfoy tucked the frames onto his face and grinned at Harry. “How do I look?”_

_Harry glared. “You know right well I’m all but blind without those.”_

_“You can see well enough this close,” Malfoy returned with a shrug._

_“If I squint.”_

_“Then squint.”_

Malfoy seemed to be evaluating himself, and had stepped up closer to inspect the memory of his own face. Harry prayed (for once) that he would be so focused on himself that he wouldn’t even notice Harry’s expression. Or, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have actually had an embarrassing expression at all and it was all in his head.

“I don’t know what you were getting at before, Potter! I’m hot!” Malfoy accused loudly, preening over his image. Harry rolled his eyes.

_Harry growled at him, but shifted a bit closer. When he huffed and looked over to evaluate Malfoy, his breathing stuttered in his throat. He cleared it rather futilely, but couldn’t seem to look away. He was staring, but he obviously couldn’t help it._

Harry was affected all over again by the sight, but kept himself in check this time. Unfortunately, Malfoy’s attention seemed to have been drawn by his memory’s choking sound, and he turned toward it. Harry winced as Malfoy froze in place, wishing he could escape. But even once they were out of the limited world of the memory, he was still handcuffed to the other boy.

_“Well? You really are blind, I think, if_ these _make you see clearly. I can’t make out a bloody thing. How do they look?” Malfoy asked petulantly, and Harry shook himself out of his staring._

“They look stupid,” he deadpanned, earning him a punch to the shoulder. He laughed as Malfoy slid the glasses off to angle a withering glare at him.

_“Honestly,” Malfoy demanded._

_Harry rolled his eyes. “Honestly? They look good. Happy?”_

_Malfoy took a moment to mime thinking about it. “Hmm...no. I want to see myself.” He dragged Harry up so that he could go stand in front of the mirror. However, no matter how close or far away he got, he just couldn’t see himself clearly. Malfoy swore, his face clouding in thought. Harry’s face looked almost pained as Malfoy began to chew on his lip._

The memory swirled and dissolved as they came back to the real world. Harry could feel his face burning with embarrassment already. Malfoy hadn’t moved since he’d seen Harry’s face. Trying to seem calm, Harry reached out with his wand and reclaimed the memory, letting it seep back into his temple. He could feel Malfoy staring at him, but couldn’t bring himself to turn. This was so damn awkward, and he could feel the panic rising.

“Potter,” Malfoy said from beside him, his tone inscrutable.

“Y-yes?” Harry croaked out, clearing his throat hesitantly.

He froze as Malfoy’s hand came into focus. He closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the blow, but jumped when he felt his glasses gently slide off his face. He turned to face Malfoy in confusion, just in time to see him settle the glasses on his own nose. Harry’s eyes widened as his breath caught. He could see Malfoy clearly at this distance, and he was just as gorgeous as before. The slight tint to his cheeks as he chewed his lip again only enhanced it.

Malfoy stepped minutely closer then. “I...I can see you from this close,” he said in what Harry was certain was meant to be an offhanded manner. Harry nodded awkwardly for a moment before he felt himself sway.

The distance between them closed quickly, and Harry felt the soft press of Malfoy’s forehead against his own. Their noses brushed gently, causing both of their breaths to stutter. Harry tilted his face just slightly, willing in that moment to be the bold one, and lightly brought his lips into contact with Malfoy’s. The other boy gasped through his nose, but hastily mimicked Harry’s movement.

Their lips pressed together with just the slightest firmness, and Harry heard some unidentifiable noise issue from his throat. Malfoy’s hands startled him when they came up to rest on his cheeks, but Harry pressed back in harder. He wound his free hand around the other boy’s waist, while his bound hand found purchase on Malfoy’s shoulder, and pulled him closer.

Malfoy’s head tilted just slightly, and Harry took advantage. He pressed against Malfoy’s mouth harshly, slipping his tongue in when he felt it open in a gasp. Never one to back down from a challenge from Harry, Malfoy quickly reciprocated. Harry wasn’t sure which one of them groaned like that – or perhaps it had been both of them – but he shivered at the sound.

Malfoy’s free arm circled around his shoulders, his fingers carding into Harry’s hair. When he tugged gently – experimentally – Harry growled and clutched him tighter. Malfoy pulled harder after that, until Harry was certain he must be crushing the breath out of him in retaliation. The slick noises of their kissing sounded mutedly in the musty room, punctuated by soft gasps and needy whimpers.

When they broke apart, it was only because they were breathing so hard they couldn’t keep their lips sealed any longer. Their mouths still brushed against one another as a substitute, their noses knocking together playfully. Harry smiled as he started to regain his ability to breathe correctly. He felt Malfoy’s forehead crinkle up where it rested against his, and he knew that he was smiling as well.

That smile that had been driving Harry crazy for different reasons than Malfoy usually drove him crazy.

It had started as a quick breath, but gradually Harry found himself laughing quietly. Malfoy chuckled right back against his lips, massaging Harry’s abused scalp in a way that stated he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. Which was good, because Harry was rather enjoying it and wouldn’t mind if he kept doing that forever. Unfortunately, they did have to pull away eventually, but they didn’t quite let go.

“...Your mouth tastes like blood and chocolate,” Harry finally mused quietly.

“Bad?”

“Surprisingly not.”

Malfoy grinned, then leaned in for a slower, gentler kiss.

Harry wasn’t certain how long they spent there, in those stuffy old rooms of the former Potions Master, but he was rather certain that Snape would not have approved. They ultimately had to leave once their stomachs began a steady protest. The rest of the day was spent seeking out every scrap of mistletoe they could find for an excuse.

That night, Harry blushed as he tentatively tucked himself up next to Malfoy. There was (thankfully) no protest. On the contrary, Malfoy rolled onto his side so that Harry could spoon up to him closer. It took a bit of moving about to get comfortable like that, but Harry smiled as he brushed a sleepy kiss against the back of Malfoy’s neck.

“Happy Christmas, Potter,” Malfoy murmured quietly in the dark.

“Happy Christmas, Malfoy,” Harry mumbled back, just before he drifted into sleep.

.o0O0o.

Harry sighed as he spotted some of the fireworks off in the distance, letting his forehead rest against the glass. He had wanted to go down to the Great Hall to celebrate the New Year with the small group of teachers and students who had stayed behind, but Malfoy had refused. Thus, he was standing at their false window with a fake view of the Hogwarts skyline. Malfoy was curled up in a chair next to him, completely engrossed in some book he’d gotten for Christmas.

Heaving a bored – and more than a little annoyed – sigh, Harry tried again. “So tell me again, exactly _why_ was it so terrible to go down to the Great Hall?”

Malfoy stiffened slightly, then relaxed. “I don’t want to go down there,” he repeated, not enlightening Harry any more than before.

Harry growled in frustration, pushing away from the window. The past several days had be a certain kind of wonderful, but Malfoy still got on his nerves on occasion. On this particular occasion, he had gotten on Harry’s _last_ nerve. “But _WHY_?” he bit out, letting his aggravation boil over. “There is food and pleasant company and they’d be happy to have us there! And yet you’d rather stay cooped up in here with a book!”

“And you,” Malfoy muttered, but Harry caught it. He furrowed his brow in confusion.

 

“I would be down there with you if we went,” he said slowly. “Malfoy, _please_ , this is _boring_!” he pleaded. “I don’t mind sitting with you and reading on most days, but today is supposed to be celebrated! There are people down there having fun now, and we’re just sitting up here doing _nothing_.” Harry shoved a hand through his hair, pulling it hard and trying to count to four. They were doing well – even seemed to like each other, and the bouts of snogging had been lovely; they didn’t need him blowing up.

Malfoy seemed to finally snap, and he slammed his book down on the table. “I don’t want to go down there with them!” he spat, then tried to stalk off. He didn’t get very far before the cuff stopped him, but he just yanked hard and brought Harry stumbling a few steps after him.

“Why _not_?” Harry demanded. He paced after Malfoy a few strides, then yanked him back by the cuff. Malfoy wouldn’t meet his eyes, which told Harry there was indeed more to it than that.

Was it the Muggleborn thing again? They had discussed that issue several times over the last month and a half, and Malfoy seemed to be relaxing his stance on that front. Malfoy had found he needed to start being especially more accepting recently, as Harry was a half-blood with a Muggle upbringing and was technically no better in the field of traditions than any other Muggleborn. He only knew, for the most part, what Hermione had dug up and told him. Malfoy had even been swayed to agree on Harry’s idea of petitioning to have a Wizarding Studies class paired with the Muggle Studies class to assist in cultural assimilation.

So maybe it was something different. “Why don’t you want to welcome the New Year with _them_?” Harry ventured. When he caught Malfoy fidgeting, he verified that he’d hit on something. He just wasn’t sure what, yet.

Malfoy scowled, then tried to turn away again. The room wasn’t terribly large, so he didn’t have very far to go. Harry hauled back on the cuffs, though, trying to drag Malfoy back to facing him. Malfoy stumbled, but then planted his feet and yanked back. Harry hadn’t been prepared for the assault, so he ended up losing his balance and shooting forward into the other boy, knocking them over.

Thankfully, they didn’t fall far, connecting with the edge of the bed just enough to keep from going to the floor. Malfoy was struggling to get up and away again, so Harry did his best to thwart that. Wrapping an arm around Malfoy’s middle, he dragged him up onto the bed and flung him down. It would be harder to _try_ to run away now, and Harry wanted his answers.

Malfoy gave him a fight for it, though. He pushed and shoved and squirmed, trying to get away. Finally giving up on that, he simply launched an attack on Harry himself. Harry was bowled over when Malfoy threw his deceptively significant weight up, and then the fight was on.

A moment of lucidity had Harry uncurling his fists and doing his best to keep Malfoy’s strikes from landing instead. They hadn’t made it this far just to get expelled on _New Year’s Eve_. In place of hitting, Harry did his best to grab at Malfoy’s wrists and flip them back over. They ended up kneeing and headbutting each other a few times as they rolled, but finally Harry found a decent foothold in the bedding and knocked Malfoy onto his back. Dropping down onto him to keep from getting kneed where it would _really_ hurt, he quickly sought out Malfoy’s arms and applied his full weight to keep them down.

Malfoy was spitting mad and thrashing wildly, but it was ultimately futile. Harry didn’t let up until the other boy quit struggling, and even then kept the pressure heavy. “Stop it!” he roared, swerving his head quickly to avoid getting bitten. “Damnit, Malfoy, calm down!”

Giving it one last ditch effort, Malfoy hooked a leg up and tried to buck Harry’s weight off of him. Harry was thankful that his position was steady enough, but he ended up gasping a breath anyway. When Malfoy’s hips had shot up...something hard had knocked against his hip. Harry stared down at the other boy with wide eyes. Malfoy was looking back up at him with a similar expression, redness creeping across his face and down his neck.

Now that Harry thought about it, though...his own trousers were feeling rather constricting as well. He licked his lips nervously, warring with himself. Finally, his libido won. He kept his eyes trained on Malfoy’s as he _slowly_ lowered himself on his arms. When their hips finally pressed together, Malfoy inhaled sharply through his mouth. Harry’s eyes flicked down toward the other boy’s lips, closing that distance as well. Their lips slid together wetly, drawing a small sound from Harry’s throat.

Malfoy’s unbound hand fought out from under Harry’s grip, and he let it go. Harry was rewarded with fingers that tangled in his hair, both pulling the strands and drawing his head closer to deepen the kiss. They had spent quite a bit of time snogging over the past seven days, but there was a distinctive edge to it this time that was different from ever before. Harry figured he could guess what that was, and pressed his hips up a little as an experiment.

Malfoy cried out against his mouth, wrapping the leg he’d tried to hook behind Harry’s knee a bit tighter. Harry thought he might have whimpered. It just felt so damn _good_. He shifted his knees so that he settled into the vee of Malfoy’s hips more securely, then did it again. And again. And again.

His hand came to caress the other boy’s jaw, crying out repeatedly at the delicious contact. Malfoy was saying something against his mouth in-between attempts at kissing, but Harry was too busy devouring the other boy to care what it was. It didn’t sound like ‘no’ or ‘stop’ – and Malfoy’s actions didn’t seem to imply such a thing either – so he wasn’t overly concerned.

Malfoy’s legs parted just a bit more, letting Harry grind even closer to him. And that was when Harry heard it, having paused his assault on Malfoy’s mouth for just a moment to breathe.

“–RY! Gods – Merlin – _YES_ – oh fuck – oh please... Harry!” Malfoy was practically sobbing out the same stream of babble over and over again. A harsh shudder wracked Harry’s frame as soon as he heard his name called in _that voice_. It seemed to run straight to his cock, and he _needed_ to hear more of it.

He left off of devouring Malfoy’s – Draco’s? – mouth so that he could hear that reverent mantra over and over. He arched his back just a little and set about latching his mouth onto his partner’s throat instead. He received an appreciative moan in response, as well as the fingers tightening in his hair.

They moved together in a mass of sweat and cries, grasping hands and rumpled clothing. It didn’t take particularly long, but they had admittedly both been more than a little sexually frustrated these past few months. Soon enough, Malfoy had started a different chant, running more along the lines of, “I’m gonna– I’m gonna– I’m gonna–!” Harry bit down hard and felt the other boy arch his back harshly. When Malfoy screamed Harry’s name, Harry knew he was going to follow right behind.

It only took a few more thrusts, and his world was exploding. He managed to choke out, “Draco!” against the other boy’s neck as he came, his throat seizing up so hard he couldn’t breathe. He collapsed onto his elbows, gasping frantically. He didn’t want to crush Draco, but his limbs felt a bit too much like jelly to do more than keep up on his elbows. Once he felt he could breathe again, his lips sought out Draco’s and kissed them feverishly.

It could have been a minute or an hour, but Harry finally found the strength to move. His pants squished uncomfortably as he dropped onto his side next to Draco. The other boy rolled with him, seemingly unable to let Harry slip any further away. They had each closed their eyes, working through the aftershocks that ran through their bodies.

Draco recovered first, making an attempt at gently carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. He was a bit too heavy-handed still, but Harry smiled in appreciation. He nuzzled forward to place fluttering little kisses all over Draco’s face, feeling a series of inane giggles bubbling out of his throat. With one last peck to his partner’s nose, Harry moved back so that he could focus on the other boy’s face.

Draco was smiling – that amazing smile that made Harry’s stomach flip over – and Harry couldn’t help but return it full force. When their breathing and heart rates finally returned to normal, Draco focused on where his fingers picked at the seam on Harry’s shoulder. “So...” he began awkwardly, biting his lip.

Harry grinned, nudging Draco so that he’d look at him again. “So...” he mimicked, grinning. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” he asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the sheltered feeling that had sprung up between them.

“I should think that was obvious, even to you, Potter,” Draco returned, but there wasn’t even a trace of malice behind it.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Harry,” he corrected, making sure Draco was looking at him to understand. “And you know what I meant.”

“No, _Harry_ , I don’t,” Draco drawled, sticking his tongue out afterwards. Harry tried to nip at it, resulting in a few chuckles and several moments lost to more kisses.

“Was that your plan all along in keeping me sequestered away up here?” Harry teased.

Malfoy bit his lip and paused. “...No.” He squirmed uncomfortably for a moment, the cuddled up closer to Harry. “I...didn’t want to spend New Years with them.”

Harry sighed. “Draco...”

Surprisingly, he didn’t even have to ask why again. “Whatever you spend New Years doing is what sets the path for the rest of your year. I...didn’t want to spend it with them. I just wanted to spend it with you.” Draco burrowed his face into Harry’s chest after he finished, obviously embarrassed.

Which is why he missed Harry’s stupidly goofy grin. He kissed the top of Draco’s head affectionately, then poked at him. “You realize that if we hadn’t fallen into...this...then we would have rung in the New Year with me bored and angry and you tense and frustrated.”

“No, I would have snogged you before it was time,” came the matter-of-fact, muffled reply. Harry chuckled, drawing Draco a bit closer in his arms.

They lay there for a minute, happily dozing, when Harry thought to pitch in, “Do you think it passed midnight already?”

“Mmm, no. Would have heard the chimes.”

“I don’t think either of us was paying too much attention,” Harry drawled in amusement. He laughed when Draco shoved at him playfully. “And you were loud.” That one got him a knee to the thigh. “Ow!” he cried out quietly, laughing.

“Shut up,” Draco mumbled into his shirt.

“Make me,” Harry teased, trying to nudge Draco’s face up so he could kiss him again. In direct opposite of earlier, this kiss was soft and languid. “Perhaps we could, uh, be more specific about how we’d like to spend the year,” he ventured awkwardly.

Draco snorted against his lips. “You are such a dork, Potter, I swear.” Harry was about to protest, but then Draco’s hands were tugging up on the hem of his jumper, and all thought of protest died in his throat.

They undressed each other slowly, and not without a little gawkiness. They would occasionally have trouble getting something over a limb, but their earlier activity had left them relaxed enough to laugh about it. Reverent kisses dotted every inch of skin as it was exposed, letting them gently explore each other’s bodies bit by bit. By the time they were both completely naked, Harry was completely hard again, and he could feel the jut of Draco’s cock dribbling just slightly against his leg.

Harry bit his lip nervously as Draco retrieved some lotion from his bedside drawer and quickly handed it to him. He kissed the other boy gently, hoping to allay the sudden shyness Draco was displaying. Having poured out a small bit of the lotion into his palm, he dipped a finger in and ran it softly down Draco’s chest. When he got to the small thatch of curls, he switched hands, letting the small pool of liquid trail over his lover’s cock. Draco gasped, then let out a long groan as Harry wrapped his hand around the length.

Harry gave it a tentative stroke, tilting his head down to watch as he explored. Matching their builds, Draco’s cock was just a little longer than his, but a tiny bit thinner. It was wonderfully soft and warm in his hand, and he took a little while to ascertain what sounds he could draw forth from his lover with his gentle touches. He pulled the foreskin back gently, brushing across the engorged tip with his thumb. Draco was panting already, much of his shyness forgotten as he clutched onto Harry’s wrist and shoulder.

Harry took that moment to roll them gently so that Draco was on his back. He wouldn’t be able to kiss his lover for a bit this way, but it would be the easiest. Nudging his way to kneel between Draco’s thighs, he used his free hand to part them a bit wider. Grey eyes stared up at him, half-lidded, as his lover’s body complied with the tacit request. He gave a brief fondle to Draco’s testicles, then let his hand roam lower.

He took his time, getting little bits of lotion at a time and massaging them into the surrounding area – all the while keeping up super-light strokes and twists along Draco’s length. By the time Harry finally pressed his finger into his lover’s tightness, Draco was writhing mindlessly and begging. There was a little discomfort evident on his face, but Harry worked his way up slowly.

He was doing his best to gauge things from Draco’s reactions, but he was still nervous as hell. He’d never done this to anyone else before, though he’d had a little practice on himself. One finger gradually became two, and then three. He wondered how hard it would be to find Draco’s prostate, and several strokes later he was grinning like a loon at the squeak the other boy gave. He did his best to draw that sound again a few times, then gave into the broken begging that Draco was sobbing up at him in-between.

He positioned himself carefully, pressing up Draco’s knees so that he could enter him more easily. A healthy dollop of lotion was spread over his aching cock, and then he began to press in. He could tell it was painful, and he did his best to soothe Draco with his hands and his words as he slowly slid home. It was harder and harder to concentrate on talking as more of him was enveloped, but he wanted to make sure his lover was okay. When he was fully seated, he paused, breathing harshly as he braced his arms to either side of Draco’s head.

Merlin, it was the most incredible thing he’d ever felt. It was almost too tight and slightly painful, but absolutely, amazingly wonderful at the same time. He fought back the urge to start rocking his hips, forcing his eyes open to lock them on Draco’s. His glasses had been removed with his clothes, but he was thankfully close enough to see his lover’s flushed cheeks clearly.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured sweetly despite his harsh breathing, brushing the knuckles of one shaky hand along Draco’s cheek. Draco nodded at him quickly, shooting Harry a strained smile as he tried to kiss the caressing hand. “Can...can I move?” Harry pleaded, the urge becoming unbearable.

“Y-yeah. Slowly, ‘kay?” Draco panted out, bracing his legs. Harry nodded and set about complying. It was awkward at first, and Harry felt badly every time a grimace crossed his lover’s features. He took hold of Draco’s bound hand with his own, twining their fingers together as he pressed it down beside Draco’s head. The chain dissolved quickly, leaving them linked in a much more intimate manner and making Harry smile.

It gradually got better, and something thrilled through Harry the first time Draco gasped in pure pleasure. He was still going slowly, but he began to experiment. He tried rolling his hips with some success, and different angles got him a myriad of responses from grunts of slight pain to streams of colourful swearing that had Harry laughing whenever he hit somewhere good. There was something wonderful about being able to lean down and kiss Draco gently as he steadily rocked into him, and Harry was glad for the orgasm they’d had earlier.

Draco had begun to get vocal again, demanding that Harry go harder, faster, or _dear fucking Merlin right there_. A mixture of encouragements, swears, prayers, and Harry’s name poured past Draco’s lips nonsensically, and it was the hottest thing Harry had ever heard. His free hand had come to grip at the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss whenever it was feasible. The other hand gripped at Harry’s white-knuckled, as if he were holding on for dear life.

Harry laughed as he vaguely registered the bells of Hogwarts tolling in the New Year. He would be quite happy if this was the precedent set for the rest of the year. Giving in to his lover’s pleas, he finally let his body take over. His free hand groped between them until he got hold of Draco’s cock, fisting it awkwardly as he thrust. Soon enough, Draco had started his warning mantra, and then he was screaming Harry’s name in release. Harry gave a yell of his own as Draco’s already tight walls clenched around him, struggling to keep moving as his body demanded. A few more strokes had him gasping his own release, breathlessly trying to chant out Draco’s name throughout.

This time, he actually did collapse on top of Draco. There wasn’t even enough strength in him to prop himself on his elbows. He felt Draco chuckle weakly, and then he was being rolled to the side by strong hands. He whimpered as he slipped out of his lover, but was partially appeased when Draco wrapped himself up around him.

They kissed lethargically, smiling as they drifted slowly off to sleep. Somehow, Harry could tell already that it was going to be an amazing new year.

.o0O0o.

Harry smiled into the soft hair tickling his nose. It was early Sunday morning, and he was rather enjoying his lie-in before their trip to Hogsmeade. Today was Valentine’s Day, and Harry was actually looking forward to it. He had someone special to spend the day with, and he was rapidly starting to think that this could be a lot more than schoolboy romance. They had a devised a plan for their trip to raid Honeydukes before having a nice lunch at the Hog’s Head (Draco still didn’t dare step foot in the Three Broomsticks). Then they would return here to decorate each other with chocolate and celebrate in their own way.

The school had been split in their reactions when they had returned to find Harry Potter snogging Draco Malfoy. Most of them were in shock. A handful of their closest friends had seen it coming for a little while – especially after Draco’s gift request for pictures. There were, of course, the naysayers, but Harry rather enjoyed letting Draco and his sharp tongue loose on them. It was great entertainment, though Draco would tease him about being a sadist afterwards.

The teachers had pretty much turned a blind eye to them. Draco thought that they were just glad that they wouldn’t have to put up with them fighting anymore. Harry preferred to think that they were simply glad to see the two of them happy after so much hardship.

Draco’s parents had been a scary obstacle to broach, but Draco had written a rather haughty letter demanding they accept it. His mother had written back, saying that his father would get over it and she still wanted grandchildren. Harry had laughed until Draco explained just what that would entail. Then Harry had made sure to (frantically) thoroughly test any treats that Narcissa sent them for extra potions, much to Draco’s amusement.

Placing a series of gentle kisses on the back of Draco’s neck, Harry gradually woke up his boyfriend. Harry grinned and planted one last peck on his shoulder when he felt Draco squirm at the ticklish sensation. “Mmm, morning love.”

“Morning yourself,” Draco returned with a yawn.

As he sought to prop himself up, Harry heard the distinctive clink of their handcuff, drawing his attention. Lifting his wrist, he jangled it around a few times as if to make certain it was actually still there – much to Draco’s amusement. When the cuff had sufficiently proved its existence, he let out a petulant whine. “But WHY?” he wailed exaggeratedly, burying his face back into Draco’s neck with a huff.

“Potter, if you honestly think that just because we’ve gotten to a point where we’d rather shag than kill each other that we have worked though _all_ of our issues, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to revert to thinking that you’re an imbecile,” Draco drawled out.

Harry bit him, making Draco yelp and twist around to swat at him. They had a playful wrestling match from there, which Harry totally cheated at by tickling Draco to win. “I hate you, Potter,” he wheezed from where he was sprawled.

“Harry,” Harry corrected in amusement, used to Draco’s use of his surname whenever they were ribbing at each other. “C’mon, let’s go. I want to get to Honeydukes before it gets cleaned out – I want a few of those caramel-filled ones, and they go quickly,” he entreated, pulling at Draco’s hand. Draco dragged his feet as they entered the shower, but the scalding hot water worked wonders on his level of wakefulness.

They took their time, despite Harry’s earlier statements, helping each other wash as much as they were distracting each other from washing. Harry had found himself whimpering and clawing at the wall when Draco knelt behind him, having learned that the quickest way to turn his boyfriend into a babbling wreck was through a judicious application of his tongue to Harry’s anus. Their lovemaking was slow after that, with Harry barely being able to stay upright against the wall as he came. Draco held him back against his chest then, giving a few more thrusts until his own legs felt wobbly from orgasm.

They of course needed some extra clean-up after that, so they were quite thoroughly pruned by the time they exited the shower. Draco didn’t even seem to mind the state of his fingers as he sat on the counter and combed them through Harry’s unruly hair.

They ended up spending a fair deal more time at Hogsmeade than they’d intended, watching the various students who were out and about. Some of them were revelling in their newly acquired freedom, while others – like them – had remained bound. Several of the pairs were unbound but sticking close together anyway, as if trying to hold onto their partnership for one last day. The boys did get a few laughs out of the handful of awkward threesomes walking about, two of them on a date while one’s partner was forced to tag along.

Their friends had briefly met up with them around lunchtime. Hermione’s hair had finally been tamed by some product introduced to her by her former bondmate, and there was a subtle gloss on her lips that made her even lovelier than Harry had thought her to be before. Harry had guessed that she and Benton would be splitting today, as the girl had also gained a much healthier attitude toward her studies – and was certain she might actually pass some of her N.E.W.T.s now, thanks to Hermione. Ron was significantly calmer than he had been at the start of term, and seemed content to just hold Hermione and breathe in the scent of her shampoo. He and Zabini had greeted each other cordially when the other boy approached, despite the fact that a blushing Ginny had been attached to his arm. Harry smiled at her, and was relieved to receive a friendly half-grin in return. Pansy had only dropped in on them briefly, before making off with some impressionable Ravenclaw girl she had wooed while working with her bondmate. Harry had no idea how Pansy and the girl had escaped their bondage, but perhaps it was possible that some people had been able to work through their issues and still hate each other’s guts afterwards.

The boys eventually made their way back to their room with a stash of chocolate, locking themselves in until dinner. They left off any serious talk about the issues still plaguing them for that day with the promise to work on it some more later. After all, it was Valentine’s Day, and should be spent loving. So they did.

.o0O0o.

Harry covered a grin with his drink as he surveyed the compartment. He figured it might take awhile to start considering the sight of Ron and Zabini locked in a quiet game of chess as normal, but he’d learned to happily accept that ‘normal’ for his life was always just a little off. It felt nice, to be honest, even if he thought that this was all madness.

Draco made a small noise in his sleep, drawing Harry’s attention as his boyfriend readjusted his head where it lay on Harry’s shoulder. Smiling, Harry dropped a soft kiss on the other man’s head. Yes, he could really get used to this version of normality.

Their arms were at a slightly awkward angle to accommodate Draco’s position, but they had gotten plenty of practice at ignoring such a thing while they had been handcuffed. It had actually taken them a bit to realize that the chain had faded, since they had grown so used to working around it over the past eight months. Not to mention the fact that they often could be found with their fingers twined together instead, making the chain disappear anyway. By the time they realized it was gone, they had only three nights left. They had still spent them together – one in each of their old dormitories, and then the last night in their shared room. No one had thought to order their room packed up so close to the end of the year – though it was possible that the teachers didn’t actually realize that their handcuffs were gone.

That last night, Harry had admitted that he rather missed having something that tied Draco to him at all times. He had intimated that perhaps a different kind of jewellery would be preferable to a handcuff...and perhaps it wouldn’t so much be a physical bond as a mental one. Draco had ruined his attempts at subtlety by stating that it better have more than one diamond and that he wouldn’t accept less than platinum. Harry had playfully tried to shove him out of bed.

Absolute. Prat.

Harry grinned at the memory, resting his head atop Draco’s with a yawn. The wrestling match that had come about afterwards had kept them up for awhile, and they’d both been exhausted come morning. Harry had made a note to track Parkinson down later so that he could get her input on a proper place to buy a very important piece of jewellery, but right now he was too content where he was. Giving Draco’s hand a gentle squeeze where it linked with his, he committed himself to dozing off instead.

After all, they had all the time in the world.

_**Fin.** _


End file.
